The Green Rider
by Llyra Monroe
Summary: A cold wind blew a light dust of snow over his path. The hood of his warm cloak was pulled low, hiding his intense azure eyes, and the livid white scar that marred his cheek. The Green Rider stood alone in the forest. COMPLETED AND REVISED ENDING.
1. Green Rider

Whenever the moon and stars are set,  
Whenever the wind is high,  
All night long in the dark and wet,  
A man goes riding by.  
Late in the night when the fires are out,  
Why does he gallop and gallop about?  
  
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,  
And the ships are tossed at sea,  
By, on the highway, low and loud,  
By at the gallop goes he  
By at the gallop he goes and then,  
By he comes back at the gallop again. 


	2. The Cry in the Night

A cold wind blew a light dust of snow over the rider's path. The hood of his warm cloak was pulled low, hiding his intense azure eyes, and the livid white scar that marred his cheek. His hands were gloved, holding on tightly to the leather reigns of his black stallion. The bright moon guided him as he rode the horse through the forest.  
  
A strong wooden bow was strapped firmly to his back, along with a quiver of silver-feathered arrows. He touched it absently to make sure it was still there. A sigh emitted from the rider, and he looked over his shoulder, searching the trees for any hidden danger. A sudden cry pierced the silent night, making the horse rear and buck at it's passenger.  
  
"Shh," the rider said, laying a hand on it's shoulder, "Quiet now, 'twas naught but a hare." The horse calmed a bit, but it's large eyes darted wildly from side to side in anxiety. The cry came again, only deeper this time, sounding more like a moan. The rider dismounted his horse, drew his bow and nocked an arrow, wondering whether or not to investigate. The cry was haunting, and it frightened him. It could be one of the forest spirits that was known to haunt the woods.  
  
But the rider knew better.   
  
He left his mount, and dove into the trees silently, ready for anything. Anything but what he came upon.  
  
A dark figure huddled close to the ground and shook like it was overcome with a deathly fever. In front of it, on the ground lay a dead deer, it's tongue lolled out, an arrow wound in it's neck proved it's death. The rider took a step forward, crunching some snow beneath his heavy boot. The dark figure jumped at the sudden noise and turned to him, arms circled around the deer.  
  
"'Tis not I who is to blame for my crime, 'tis the laws that hinder us!" The rider was taken aback, for this figure was nothing but a young woman. Dark brown strands of hair fell into her face as she shifted, so that he could see that her ankle was caught in a fierce iron mantrap that were placed throughout the forest. Crimson blood dribbled dangerously from the wound. He heard a hunting call in the distance.  
  
"I am no man of the law," he said, and the girl peered at him suspiciously in the dim light.  
  
"No man of the Sheriff's?" she asked.  
  
"He is no lord of mine," he said through clenched teeth. The horn trumpeted again, and the girl turned her head fitfully towards the sound.  
  
"I have put thee in great danger, tha must go, quick," she said, shooing him away with her hands.  
  
"I shall not leave thee," he said, determined.  
  
"Art thou deaf? I said run, fool!" she said, spit flying from her lips.  
  
"No," he said, crouching low over the iron trap that bit harshly into her leg.  
  
"Bring this to the children of Barnsdale, stranger," said the young woman, nudging to the deer, "If I refuse to be saved, do not refuse the children this." He shook his head, his eyes wide. The Barnsdale Wastes were north of Sherwood Forest, filled with strange, awkward independent people, and a day's journey from here. He was amazed at how far she had traveled. Her eyes searched his, "Please."  
  
"I- "  
  
"Please," she said again, taking up is hands and holding them in hers. For a faint second, the rider thought he saw a shimmer of some unnamable tremor, a shifting disturbanceof some kind. It lingered for a moment and then dissolved, and he shook the feeling away, nodding his head. She closed her eyes in approval, then watched him heft the deer over his shoulders and stand.  
  
"For the children of Barnsdale," he said, and disappeared into the dark forest.  
  
Then she was left alone. 


	3. To Barnesdale

She scrambled frantically at the iron trap with her cold and shaking hands. Tears streamed from her eyes as she realized that there was no escape, no possible way to escape her certain doom. A knife blade came from behind her, resting right under her jaw, making her stay her movements.  
  
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" the man wielding the knife asked. Two others came and stood beside him as he removed the knife from under her chin and walked so that he was facing her on the ground. "A poacher caught in the prince's forest?"  
  
"Where is the deer?" one of the men demanded, itching his leg with the toe of his boot. The young woman smiled a wicked smile.  
  
"She is a witch!" the other one accused. The man who held the knife said, "Release her from the trap," The girl smiled triumphantly, feeling that there was hope for her yet. Then the man continued, "And tie her up so we can burn her at the stake in Nottingham."  
  
"No!" she screamed, biting and kicking at them with her free leg.   
  
Suddenly, an arrow flew from behind her and hit one of the men in the chest. He toppled over, and the ordering man peered out into the darkness.  
  
"'Tis the spooks, they obey her sorcery," he whispered, and turned to leave, but was hit with another arrow, and fell on top of the other dead man. The man that was left, stood up and ran, dodging flying arrows, and vanished into the snowy woods.  
  
The woman looked over her shoulder, and saw the strange rider standing there, a silver-tipped arrow gripped in his fist. He looked down to her, "I said I could not leave thee."  
  
"Why didn't tha listen to me? I WANTED to die," she said through clenched teeth.  
  
"'Tis not what I heard."  
  
"I didn't want to be burned by the stake and publicly humiliated. I wanted to die with some dignity. Lest be caught in a trap like some helpless animal."  
  
"Now tha won't have to die," he said and kneeled down to inspect the workings of the trap. He pressed a little on the sides, she whimpered.  
  
"Careful!" she hissed, watching him pick and poke at the restraints.  
  
"I am being careful," he protested, getting irritated by her stubbornness.  
  
"Well, I-" she began, but a sharp burst of pain ran up her leg. The man removed the two iron clamps from her limb. Then, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she began to lose consciousness, the man caught her before she hit the ground.  
  
"To Barnsdale, then?" he asked, a strand of brown hair tumbled into his eyes.  
  
"To Barnsdale," she answered, before she fell into complete and utter darkness. 


	4. What it Means to Starve

The dull wintry sun had begun to rise, and the horse and his passengers were already out of the Royal Forest of Sherwood. They stayed close to the old Roman road, but did not travel on it. The rider had slung the deer carcass over the horse's haunches, and he now carried a wounded woman in his arms.  
  
The rider glanced behind him, checking on the deer. He replayed the night's events in his mind and he flushed with a twinge of excitement. The corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin, and he had a immeasurable feeling of ease that he had not had since...   
  
She was wrapped in his warm cloak, her wounded leg swaddled in a piece off the hem of her skirt. The woman emitted a strange heat, that it seeped through the thick cloak and into his own body, warming him also. Her face was turned into his chest, protected from the cold, February winds. She shifted, and he looked down, the young woman opened her eyes a little and squinted at him.   
  
"Hello..." she croaked.  
  
"Hello," hesaid, his face expressionless, and looked to the path again. He could feel her unwavering gaze on him, her brown eyes penetrating, almost as if she knew his secrets. All of his secrets.  
  
"Dost thou have any water?" she asked, and he removed his arm from across her legs and reached for his water pouch that hung from the saddle. He grasped it, and could feel that the water had frozen, and the pouch was swollen with ice.   
  
"Horse, whoa," he pulled on the reigns, halting the horse. Then, he scooted back on the saddle and propped the girl there, making sure she wouldn't tumble over. He dismounted and lifted her down, setting her on a nearby rock. He sat beside her and grabbed a fist full of snow with his bare hands, holding his hands together trying to melt it. The rider saw her watching and said, as if teaching her, "Tha must not eat the snow, for all tha will get is more air then water."  
  
She took up some snow herself and started melting it in her hands, "Then how dost thou drink it?"  
  
"Like this," he said, putting his wrists against his bottom lip and funneling the cold snow-water into his mouth.  
  
"Oh," she said, doing the same. He got up and rummaged through the saddle bags attached to the horse's worn brown saddle. Then, he brought out a sack of grain, and began feeding the horse, scratching it under the the chin as he ate, and whispering praises and kind soothing words into his ear.  
  
"Why dost thou call him Horse?" the woman asked, drinking some more water from her hands. The man was startled at this question.  
  
"Huh? Oh, because that is his name."  
  
"Horse?" she looked at him skeptically.   
  
"I don't know his real name, so I just call him Horse. Our partnership works just fine," he said in a monotone voice.  
  
"Dost thou have a name?" He seemed to not have heard, because he shoved the empty sack back into the saddlebag compartments, and came to her, picking her up again.  
  
"Tha doesn't have to pick me up all the time," she said, her brow furrowing.  
  
"Thou art incapable of walking, I do point out, and anyway, thou art no weight," he said, lifting her onto the horse's back and hefting himself up. She fell silent at this comment, and they rode without speaking for a while.  
  
"The people are starving, and so am I," she said. The rider was startled once again.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I deprive myself for the people of Barnsdale."  
  
"And who is depriving them of their nourishment?" he asked, watching a lone gray cedarbird flit from a tree to a boulder.  
  
"The Prince." 


	5. A Battlefield

Helen squatted lown next to a fire, trying to warm herself. Her graying hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her tattered and worn dress was gathered around her legs. A family of six huddled around her, all fighting for the warmth of the same crackling fire. She then stood up, and wrapped her arms around herself.  
  
The clearing spread before her, like a battlefield from a savage war. Tiny makeshift tents and huts scattered the expanse ground, and even more people sat miserably around them. She glanced over to the large weeping willow and almost pained to see the fresh mounds of dirt that had appeared there. Her fingers clenched in silent rage over the sad vision of the ragged sight of the people.  
  
Suddenly, a clatter arose from the entrance into the clearing. Helen jumped to attention, along with a few of the younger men, anxious with anticipation of danger. A black stallion burst through two firs, and a cloaked man jumped down, a girl in his arms.  
  
"Could somebody help me?" he shouted, frantically, "Anybody? Please, this woman needs help!" They all stood there, silent and still, dumbly not knowing what to do. The passion in the young man's voice made Helen speak up, "Over here, lad!"  
  
The man looked at her and rushed through the crowd towards Helen. She led him into one of the larger huts, shooing all of the other people out. The man laid her down carefully on a pile of dirty rugs.  
  
"'Twas naught but an hour past that she fell asleep, but into a sleep that I could not rouse her from. Her breath was shallow, so I kicked Horse into full speed, and..." he paused, tugging at the the covering so that it exposed her pale face. Her gaunt cheekbones showed how poorly fed she was. Helen gasped.  
  
"'Tis Marian."  
  
"What?" the man asked, looking dazedly up at the old woman's face.  
  
"I said 'tis Marian, she hasn't come around here parts for a month now, I wonder what she'd got herself into," she clucked as she gingerly unwrapped her leg, "Now I do."  
  
"Can tha do naught to help her?"  
  
"The lass has lost too much blood, I reckon. The wound needs to be seared, that's for sure," she said grabbing for the short knife that hung from his belt, "Make her as comfortable as tha can." And with that she ran out of the hut.  
  
The man wrung his hands, unsure what to do. He swept her damp locks back from her face, revealing an emerald ring hanging from a piece of twine from her neck. His fingers traced the smooth roundness of the ring, and his eyes drank up the delicious glitter of the beautiful hard stone embedded in the silver. His eyes lingered a little too long, and his greed got the better of him, for when Helen came back in, the ring was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Lad, tha better hold her down," she warned, before she pressed the steaming knife blade against the gash, and his nostrils flared with the putrid stench of burning flesh. Marian's back arched and she let out an angry growl before she fell into welcomed unconsciousness again.  
  
Helen touched Marian's face tenderly, "Where did thee find her?"  
  
"The Royal Forest,"   
  
Helen shook her head, "I should've known...'twas one of her ventures out of the Barnsdale Wastes. 'Twill be my downfall trying to tame that one," then, she sat back on her haunches, looking at the man, "Thee should check on thy horse, for they have already taken the deer."  
  
The man rushed outside, and ran to his steed, shooing away all of the ruddy looking children who had gathered.  
  
The deer must feed them all?   
  
He looked quickly around the clearing, before jumping onto his horse and fleeing the sight. He hoped the girl now known to him as Marian wouldn't mind if he left without saying goodbye. He was bad at that. As he rode through forest, he stuck his finger into the breast pocket of his green dyed tunic and brought out the shiny emerald ring. Horse slowed to a trot, and he fit the band onto his pinkie finger.  
  
He never told her his name was Robert either.  
  
(A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I need more! I CRAVE constructive criticism. So please, push that little blue button at the bottom of the page and REVIEW! Hope all you Robin Hood fans don't get mad at me for changing his name, there is a certain reason for this. (Hint-hint) And don't worry Marian fans, she will stop being damsel in distress in the future, and become a strong heroine we all love to see in the Robin Hood tales. The Merry men are also coming into play, along with the dreaded Sheriff of Nottingham, so just hold your jerkins!) 


	6. First Interlude

The Sheriff of Nottingham sat regally on a wooden throne, which was on a raised dais in the main hall. Prince John sat a few feet away from him, chatting idly with some lesser noble. He looked longingly at the gypsies that had come to dance for his entertainment. Well, they'd come unwillingly, but they were beautiful to look upon all the same. He stroked his sculpted beard vainly, his dark eyes followed the movements of the dancing bodies.

A red-faced page appeared by his elbow, and hurriedly mumbled something. The Sheriff looked up at him and cuffed him over the head, sending him plummeting to the marble floor.

"Don't ever stand higher than me, tha insolent lad!" he hissed, and Prince John shifted in his chair, watching the drama with a smug grin on his sickly pale face.

"I-I-I'm sorry, my lord, but 'tis important. Ranger Thomas craves a word with thee... Th-th-there's been a situation," he stuttered, his eyes on the ground.

"Very well," the Sheriff huffed, "Tell him to meet me in my quarters, in the study."

"Yes, my lord," the boy said, and rushed off in the other directions.

"I wonder what it is this time, Sheriff," the Prince said, arching his eyebrow suspiciously.

"I think 'tis nothing, sire, I shall take care of it," the Sheriff said quickly, taking one last look at the scantily clad harlots, then exiting the room promptly.

The Sheriff found Ranger Thomas pacing in the library, his heavy boots making loud thuds on the cold, stone floor. As he entered the room, Brian kneeled before him, grasping at his robes.

"Please forgive me sire, please..."

"Don't grovel before me Thomas," he rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Get thyself up and tell me about this little 'situation'." Brian got up and reached into his tunic, and brought out a broken, silver-tipped arrow.

"We were attacked in The Royal Forest."

"Attacked?" the Sheriff's fingers ran delicately across the feathers, looking intrigued.

"This girl, she..."

"Thou was attacked by a girl?" the Sheriff chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"Her minions..." Thomas began.

"Minions? This arrow came from no specter, I'll tell thee that," he said, strolling over to a big oak bookshelf, "This seems familiar to me somehow..." He paused, vacantly smoothing his dark beard.

"How so?" Thomas asked, adjusting his brown forester's belt.

"'Twill come to me in due time," he said, snapping out of his dreamy look, and turning to him, "Where is Jack? And Peter?"

"The archer killed them." The Sheriff's face turned to anger as he lunged into Thomas, shoving the arrowhead into his chest.

"Tha hast failed to stop him. He is a threat now," he whispered into his ear, then let Thomas slump to the floor. He extracted the arrow, and laid it on the mantle above the fireplace.

"Thou art a mystery, forest spirit... thou art a spirit I'd like to break."


	7. The Hermitress

The hermitress knew that she was coming before Marian's familiar knock reached her ears. The woman was sure that the leather bonds of her mask were securely tied before she lifted the door covering and peered out into the darkness. Sure enough, the girl was climbing up the rocky trail, her cloak hood dropped to her shoulders, revealing her strained features. The woman felt sorry for the limping girl, for she knew that she would never walk the same again.

"Marian," she whispered, and her words were carried by a soft spring wind down to the girl's ears, "I knew tha would come tonight." The young woman smiled and hurried as fast as she could due to her wounded leg up the rough terrain of the ridge to meet her friend. She stood before the masked woman and said, "Sarah..."

"I know child," the woman said, putting a supporting arm around her waist, "I know what ails thee..."

Sarah brought the young woman into her cave bungalow, carrying a flame torch as she went. They settled on a worn rug near a trickling stream of cool water that flowed through the cave's crevices. Marian sighed as she relaxed against the cold hardness of the rock, watching the woman pull out a dark velvet bag and spread the contents on the crude wooden table before her.

"I'm going to die in these woods, aren't I?" Marian asked suddenly, and Sarah glanced up at her, then shook her head, "Many will perish, few will prevail. The strong will live, and thou art not one of the weak."

"How art thou so sure, Sarah, what should I believe?"

"Trust thy heart, and thou shalt find that others will trust thee with theirs," she spread the runes on the table, the rocks make pleasant scratching noises as she did so. Marian shrugged at the woman's vagueness, knowing all too well that she spoke in a strange code, and that it took time to think about the wisdom that she spoke. Usually all their meetings went this way, Marian would ask questions, and Sarah would give opaque, unsettling answers.

Marian also itched to know what Sarah looked like under her false face of wood and leather. The eyes were only slits through which Marian saw grey eyes, and the mouth was a square shape below the wooden nose. Sarah told Marian that she wore it because she was deformed, ugly, and that her parents had covered her face with it since she was born, hiding her from hateful words and stares. She said if any would look upon her with her mask off, they would surely die, because her warped and twisted features were the work of Satan. Though Marian had heard the tale many times, she was sure that the woman wasn't as unseemly as she said she was.

Sarah had caught her staring, and Marian looked away, flushed, and mumbled her apologies. Sarah shifted uncomfortably, running her long, slender fingers across the painted rocks. She gave a grunt, gathered them in her hand and threw them down again, a low whistle emitted from behind the concealment. Marian waited on the edge of her seat while the woman traced circles around the runes.

"Two figures will come to tha tomorrow. On the Day of the May. A surprise will happen...two surprises actually...one I am sure of...and the other...I can't quite make out..." Marian smiled, enveloping herself in thoughts of good fortune, but was halted when Sarah said in a low voice, "Remember what I said, child, the weak might die in these woods...the strong survive...I begin to see what part tha will play...though I do not see it clearly..."

* * *

"'Ey Rob," a whisper awoke Robert from a dreamless sleep, "Wake up, now, we must go." Robert opened his eyes, rubbing the fogginess out of them, and his friend crouched above him, his face shadowed in the darkness.

"John, what's the matter? Why did tha wake me up?" he grumbled, sitting up.

"Quiet, Rob, 'oo might wake up th' others," the large young man said, "We must leave, post haste, th' Bishop found out that 'e's 'arbored outlaws."

"That's a good reason," Robert said, quickly shoving his bedroll into his pack. Twenty other men slept soundly on the castle floor, and John and Robert stepped around them and made it outside without any furthur delay. They crept across the well-trimmed lawn to the large stables, where John forcibly opened the massive wooden doors.

An arrow flew from a dark corner and struck the wood plank right above Robert's head with a 'thwack'. With cat-like quickness, he pulled out his own bow and fitted a silver-tipped arrow between his fingers, aiming at the dark place. John stood next to him, holding his ash stave out in defense.

"S-s-sorry, Robert, didn't know 'twas thee," a lad said, coming out of the shadows. Robert sighed, dropping his arms, "Alan..."

"I said I was sorry," Alan said, shrugging his shoulders at John.

"Make thyself useful, boy, fetch some horses," Robert instructed, and watched the curly-haired boy run off into the stables. John shook his head, "'Oo got thyself into thy own mess with tha' 'un." Robert shot him a glare, and the smirk left John's face.

Two other young men appeared in the doorway, and Robert nodded in their direction.

"How did he find out?" the shorter man asked, coming into the torchlight of the warm barn.

"Some one must have told, Much," Robert said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm no fool, Robert," he snapped, looking anxiously out into the moonlit night.

"'Twas not I," the other man said, shifting the bag in his arms.

"No un's blamin' anyun', Scarlet," John's deep voice boomed.

"I'm not blaming anyone either, but someone in this stable leaked the secret," he said, watching Alan lead five horses to them.

"Enough quarreling, we must leave, before Bishop Heugh sends his men upon us," Robert said, tersely, mounting Horse, and riding out of the stable. John and Much followed, leaving Scarlet and Alan in the building alone.

"Be glad that he's thy guardian, Al," Will threatened the lad, and jumped upon the horse's back. Alan clumsily jumped on his steed, and they followed Robert from Tickhill Castle, towards the thick tangles of the mysterious Barnsdale Wastes.


	8. The Day of the May

Marian woke to the sounds of giggling children outside her small hut. She smiled groggily, stretching her arms out wide, and kicked the woolen blanket aside with her feet. Her mongrel dog, Zev, sat on his haunches, looking up at the door and wagged his tail in anticipation. The laughter grew louder as Marian shoved her feet into her worn boots.

"Marian, I can't hold them any longer," her friend said, obviously straining against the tiny bodies. Marian threw open the door and was immediately knocked over by several children with flowers in their hands. She laughed, tickling the youngsters until they all fell away from her, and she looked up at the girl leaning against the doorway.

"Marian," she greeted, holding out a hand to heave her up. Marian took the warm hand and smiled at her friend Nan, "Nice pack of ruffians tha has got thyself."

"We're not ruffimums," a small boy said. Nan laughed, shaking her long blond hair in the sunlight, "Right thou art, Tom, we've come to crown the queen."

"Crown the queen! Crown the queen!" they cheered, making the dog bark and dance around.

"Gotta catch me first!" Marian dared, and ran out of the small hut into the forest.

Marian stood in a circle of sweetly singing children, in the clearing where there was so much turmoil only months before. A large bonfire was burning brightly, sending a soft dancing glow on the gathered groups. The moon shown a healthy yellow, looking as round and full as a swollen belly and Marian knew that this boded good fortune.

_"All the names I know from nurse,_

_Gardener's garters, Shepherds purse,_

_Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,_

_And the Lady's Hollylock._

_"Fairy places, fairy things,_

_Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,_

_Tiny trees for tiny dames-_

_These must all be fairy names!_

_"Tiny woods below whose boughs_

_Shady fairies weave a house;_

_Tiny treetops, rose or thyme,_

_Where the braver fairies climb!_

_"Fair are richer people's trees,_

_but the fairest woods are these;_

_Where, if I were not so small,_

_I should live for good and all."_

They sang, coming in close to Marian, and she bent down to let them crown her with a circlet made of woven rose blossoms. A cheer surged up from the large crowd and that symbolized the beginning of the celebration. Traveling minstrels had come to join in their carnival, and began to strum their lutes.

Nan grabbed her hand and pulled her into a fast-paced dance, hooking arms with young men and women as they carelessly jigged to the tune. Marian twirled around in insane ecstasy, her cheeks glistened with joy and happiness. As she skipped around the bonfire, hand in hand with other young people, she caught sight of five strangers standing by the dark treeline of the clearing.

She tore Nan from the whirling line and pointed them out to her.

"Aw, Marian," she shrugged, "Give 'em no worry, they're just travelers, they'll have some mead and then leave."

"I guess," Marian said and was picked up in another galloping dance and wasn't able to get a better look at the figures.

* * *

As queen of the May, Marian was to oversee the games and plays. She watched a few jugglers, and joined in on a coupling dance. Everyone was amazed by Nan's storytelling, for she told of the old days of Good King Arthur and his Teacher Merlin.

Marian watched them all dance from a distance as she sipped mead from a worn wooden cup. She watched as Nan began to dance with a skinny young lad, and failed to stifle a laugh when he clumsily stepped on her feet.

"Where's Alan?" Robert asked, looking around for the little urchin.

"O'er there, I t'ink," John answered, taking a swig of his beer, and pointed past the fire. Robert spied him, twirling awkwardly with a young maid. He began to make a joke at his expense when he caught a sight of a mysterious woman, standing solitarily at the forests edge. He watched as she swayed to the music, her slim arms moving as if to copy the dancers.

"Who's the girl?" he whispered, strangely stunned.

"I dunno, bu' she's somethin' ain't she?"

"I'll say," he replied, running his fingers through his hair. He remembered that cold night that he came upon that dirty, mangy girl in the trap, and how he brought her here. He knew in his heart that the wound had been fatal, and that the winter had been too harsh, and he believed her to be dead. Fingering her emerald ring on his pinkie finger, he felt a twinge of remorse for the poor girl.

Robert found himself startled out of the wintry reverie to notice that the woman was staring back at him across the clearing. She stood there, frozen like a fawn, her eyes seeming to pierce through him markedly; dangerous, yet alluring.

He took his eyes off her for a second to glance at Scarlet and Much, who were in a heated debate with some other forest folk over the King's ransom. As he returned his gaze back to the mysterious woman dressed in green, he found that she had run off silently into the darkness of the forest.

* * *

The appearance of these strangers frightened Marian to no end. Although Barnesdale was her home now, she never felt truly safe from danger, the dangerous circumstances from which she had fled many years ago. The Wastes were a queer place to reside, their depths near unfathomable, and the tall, reaching branches of the strong trees whispered to her that she was safe in the protection of the foreboding wilderness that surrounded her. Yet, a feeling of unease swept over her as she turned to her empty hut.

She pushed open the wooden door slowly, and saw the bloodied mess of what was left of her dog, Zev. His chest was cut open, spilling his innards, his tongue lolled out of his open mouth, as if he were killed mid-bark. Her gaze lifted to the back wall, where a crest looking like a maple leaf was painted on the back wall. She gingerly stepped over the dog and touched the splintered wood. Her fingers came back sticky with red crimson blood.

He had found her.


	9. Second Interlude

A long, long time ago, a powerful noble named Guy Gisbourne used to live in a beautiful and terrifying manor atop a cliff by the sea. Guy only wanted the best for his younger sister, Christine Gisbourne and her daughter, Mary. He always did what was best for his sibling, even when it meant killing some people to get what he wanted. And he always got what he wanted.

When Christine was twenty years of age, she fell in love with a homely poet. When Guy discovered this, he flew into a rage and went out and had the poet slaughtered, then his head mounted above his massive fireplace. Later, he found that his sister was with child. The poet's child.

Being only a few years older than Christine, and their parents dead, he arranged for her to marry an old, toothless Barron, after she had the baby. Christine refused, and angered him more, though, he kept his fists tethered, reminding himself that he was not raised on good breeding to hit a woman. But then again, the servants usually heard her pained cries behind his locked doors.

Soon, a healthy baby girl was born, and Christine became totally enamoured with the infant. She always sang to her, coddling her with all the love she could muster. She once said to her handmaid, "I never knew love until Mary was born." Mother and daughter spent hours together, playing in the garden and laughing, but these moments did not last long.

When Mary turned five, Guy was determined that Christine was to be married to a nobleman who lived in Nottingham. This meant for them to be separated permanently. Both women were distraught. And Christine also had plans for the future. To run away.

On the night of their escape, Christine took Mary aside and hugged her close, running her fingers through the girl's long brown hair.

"Mary," she said, catching the girl's eyes, "Promise thou shalt never forget me,"

"How can I forget thee, momma, thou art here, with me,"

"Yes," she said, camouflaging her tears with a cough, "Still, thee must promise me,"

"Aye," Mary replied, nodding her head, "I will." Christine slipped a silver chain from her neck and laid it around Mary's neck, "May the moon shine on thy dreams, and the sun shine on thy path," she quoted their cherished lullabye, and then pulled Mary down the hill, away from her brother's estate. Only they did not get far.

They were captured by an evil man only known as The Sheriff. Christine was torn away from Mary, and they did not see each other ever again. Mary would never know if her mother was married to him, or killed, or thrown into the Sheriff's dungeons. Although she always had a little hope that her cunning mother would escape from her captors and rescue her from her uncle's tender care.

Her uncle believed that her hopes and wishes wouldn't last for long.

When she turned twelve, her uncle announced that she would be betrothed to none other than the very Sheriff that had taken her mother. Refusing to succumb to marrying a man thrice her age, she attempted to run away for the second time in her life. This time she succeeded. Mary took refuge in the Barnesdale Wastes, for she knew that her uncle would not dare to search for her.

The forest was her only hope.

For the first few months, Mary hid in a makeshift lean-to, made of rotted bark and dead branches, surviving off acorns and wild strawberries that grew under the brush. As the seasons changed, food became more scarce, and Mary found herself wandering, half-starved, with no hope left in her heart.

Then, a hermit woman found her hungry and shivering while she was on her daily walk. The woman's name was Sarah, and she wore a grotesque mask made of leather and wood, but she did not frighten Mary. She brought her into her home and fed her like she was her own child. Sarah listened to her story and urged her to stay in the safety of the forest, and christened her as Marian, Lady of the Woods.

Marian grew to know every tree for miles around, memorize the secrets of the paths that winded throughout the forest, and became strong with a bow. Her adventurous spirit often worried Sarah, for she knew that one day, because of Marian's independence, she would find trouble. Sarah could see things that others did not.

* * *

Marian limped to Sarah's dark cave. The older woman stood there, unsure of what had happened, but she welcomed Marian into her home, and dropped a spark on a lone candle.

"Thou were right, I did have visitors tonight."

"Who?"

"Guy Gisbourne."

"Thine uncle?" The hermitress was obviously worried, she could not control the shaking of her hands.

"Aye, I am sure of it." Sarah sat down to collect her bearings. She wrung her hands and took a deep breath, shaking her head, "Why didn't I see this? Why? I should have..."

"Nay, 'twas not thy own fault,"

"Marian, I feel as if I have betrayed thee," she said, her voice warbly, sounding almost close to tears.

"Nay, thee shall help me."

"Right, Marian."


	10. Recognition

Sarah embraced the girl and whispered something inaudible to her ears. Marian hugged her tightly back, itching to get on her way. Sarah stood back and took in Marian's trousered legs and cloaked figure. She sighed, and Marian could've sworn that she saw a twinkle of a tear through her eyeholes in her mask.

"Take thyself to refuge at the abbey in Nottingham," Sarah advised, pushing Marian out the door of her cave, "The nuns and Friar Tuck have helped me in the past, god bless them. Thy uncle dare not touch you in sanctuary."

Marian began to hobble down the path, Sarah called out her name. She turned, her chestnut hair falling out from under her disguise. "'Twas not thine uncle that I saw in my vision, 'twas someone else entirely,"

"Who was it then?"

"Remember to look harder, my child, see things that others do not..."

Sarah took one last look at Marian before she disappeared back into her cave, and left her to start on her journey.

* * *

Robert stepped back under the shady branches of an oak tree to escape from the heat. His horse stomped away the flies that surrounded his black hooves, also testy in the heat. A bead of sweat trickled down his back as he peered down the road in search for his next traveler to wander into his trap.

He was stationed just outside Nottingham, waiting to plunder unaware merchants and nobles who were too stupid, or too haughty, to travel unguarded. This is where Robert stepped in. He would jump on Horse and demand all of the gold they carried, and if they didn't have the gold...well, he hadn't come across that situation yet. He took a swig of water and looked down the path again, this time seeing a cloud of dust heading his way. He stood, reaching for his sword.

The rider was driving his mount hard and showed no sign of yielding, only when Robert stepped into the middle of the road, and raised his sword did the rider slow his pace.

"What matter is this," the rider spoke with a cool voice, his face shaded by the floppy hat he wore, "That I am halted so rudely on this beautiful summer afternoon?"

"Give me all of thy gold."

"And if I do not comply?"

"I give thee no choice," Robert said firmly, his arm aching from holding the sword so long. The horseman sighed, obviously peeved, and dismounted, drawing his own sword as he did so.

"Then I plan to fight thee for my dignity."

Robert let out a scoff, "Thee...fight me? But thou art only a child!"

"I am no child," the stranger said angrily, "'Tis thee that is acting childish." Robert felt slightly hurt at this weak insult, but nonetheless, raised his sword to meet his opponent's.

"Then we begin," the rider said, and amidst the heat, he could not help the goosebumps rising on his arms.

Without warning, the stranger thrust forward, but Robert blocked him, turning off into the defense he had learned as a child, he circled the stranger with a wide berth.

"What art thou doing?" the stranger questioned mockingly, "Dost thou think thyself a hawk?" He ducked low to avoid the swing that Robert administered, swinging his own sword low, so that it nicked his leggings. Robert looked down, silently cursing himself for his stupidity and failre, receiving the first wounds of the fight. The stranger didn't rest for long though, advancing on him with strikes worth of catlike speed.

"Who--art--thou?" Robert asked, meeting each blow with the same quickness. The horseman let out a low laugh, retreating to a better position.

"I'd rather remain a mystery," he said, running forth at this opportunity and extending his leg, sending Robert flying. He grunted, the propulsion of his attack sent him over Robert's downed body. Robert reached up and grabbed the strangers boot, quickly wrenching it to the left, making him topple to the ground. It was a sudden scramble to get back up, but Robert pushed himself on top of his assailent, pinning him into the dirt.

"Give up?" he asked, staring down at the unshadowed face. The rider's brown eye's narrowed, "Not...even...close." And he amazingly hefted Robert off of him with great strength, for Robert obviously out weighed him, and stood, searching for his sword.

A ridiculing laugh made the rider look up at Robert, who held both blades. The stranger nodded in silent surrender and kneeled ceremoniously before him, bowing his head, "Tha may do as thy wish," he said quietly. Robert just walked to the horse and unbuckled the saddle and bags, then returned the sword back to it's ungrateful owner. Robert did not have to worry that he would strike, for it is a gentlemanly thing to not lift a hand against the winning dueler after he has won. He dragged the saddle back into the woods and left it by his softly neighing horse. He came back and found the stranger already mounted again.

"Thou art an evil man," he accused, and kicked his horse into a gallop. Robert watched as the billow of dust moved down the road, shaking his head as he did so. Then, he went back to inspect the winnings.

His mouth watered hungrily at the thought of fine silks and precious jewels that awaited him inside the burlap bags. He greedily untied the strings and lifted the covers up, the anticipation was suffocating him. Only, his smile faded as he reached into the sack and pulled something out.

"A loaf of bread?"

* * *

Robert now stood against a wall of a building, watching the Nottingham marketplace with his icy blue eyes. He was looking for someone. Or waiting. His patience wore thin as he glanced down and saw a little girl in braids next to him staring at the harsh scar that marred his cheek. He felt his face grow hot and sidled away from her, returning his gaze to the busy crowd of merchants and people.

There! No, that was someone else... wait...there he was! Right behind the herb stall, his floppy hat pulled down low to shade his eyes. Robert could not contain his excitement at his cleverness, but then the feeling turned to fear as the crowd surged towards him.

His heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his gut. An unnamable fear gripped his insides. Public places oftentimes made him queasy. In crowded urban towns he would suddenly become homesick for the forest, the forest that comforted him no matter the fright. His skin felt seared as two bustling women bumped into him, pushing him back to the wall. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip, and he glanced again behind the herb stall, searching for that boy.

No! He was gone! All because of Robert's unnecessary fear of people. A sudden crash brought his attentions to the street, where a wooden cart was overturned spilling it's contents onto the muddy lane.

"Stupid boy!" a red-faced merchant cursed, cuffing the crouching figure over the head, "Me potatoes are all dir'y! Now 'elp me pick this ba' up." The boy complied, though the merchant did not see that for every third potato he placed back into the cart, two potatoes went into the bag that was slung over his shoulder. After the cart was upright, the boy tipped his annoyingly flimsy hat and disappeared back into the crowd.

Determined not to lose him again, Robert followed the boy out of the city gates and to the forest surrounding it. The boy bent down, retrieving two more plump bags and slung them over his shoulder, jumping on his horse with great agility. As he spurred his horse, Robert ran to the other side of the road, mounting Horse, and followed the strange boy with a carefully measured distance between them.

The boy knocked on the church's large doors and was greeted by a fat, jolly monk. They chatted for a while, seemingly old friends, then when he left, he was mysteriously one bag lighter. Robert laughed softly at the boy's adroitness from his hiding place across the street. A guard who was making his rounds turned the corner just as the boy had, bumping into each other.

"Sorry, sir," the boy said, patting the guard's hard metal armor.

"Watch where I'm going," the guard said gruffly, and as the boy pushed past him, the guard put out his arm, blocking his path.

"What's in ye' bags?" he asked, and the hat drooped haphazardly into the boy's eyes.

"Nothing, sir," the boy said, putting his hands out to gesture his honesty.

"Jes' let me look," the guard said curiously, reaching for his sacks. The boy took a cautious step back, and this angered the man, "I order ye' to let me look." Aware of the danger now, the boy turned to run, but was caught in the back of the shirt by the guard, and was dragged back to him, "Obey or die,"

"Death first," he said through gritted teeth, and this was the moment when Robert chose to step in.

"Unhand the boy," he ordered, and the guard complied, turning on him dangerously and half drawing his sword.

"Who says?"

"Robert of Loxley," he said, drawing back his arm and punching the guard in the nose, sending him plummeting to the ground. Robert looked up just in time to see the retreating figure hop onto his horse and trot off. Robert hurriedly jumped on Horse, and guided him out of the small neighborhood and tight next to the boy's own steed.

"Thanks kindly for that help back there, but I would wish tha would quit following me everywhere," he mumbled.

"Aw, shucks kid," Robert mocked, "I just saved thy life back there,"

"Not for the first time."

"What?" The boy turned to look at Robert next to him, and led the horse to cut him off, sending him into the trees.

"What's the meaning of this?" Robert asked, just getting whapped in the face by a thin branch of a pine tree. The boy dismounted silently, coming around his horse and facing him on his left side, away from the road.

"I'd like it if tha'd please hand me back my ring," he said coolly. Robert's other hand covered the emerald ring on his hand protectively.

"Well," he smiled charmingly, "I gladly would, if the ring belonged to thee."

"It does," the lad said spookily, and goosebumps appeared on Robert's arm again.

"For thy information, I got this ring from a girl who was nearly close to death."

"And tha stole her dignity by stripping her of her possessions?"

"Not really..."

"I demand it back-"

"I'll say again, I would gladly-" The boy tore off his cap and shook his head, letting down a length of long, brown hair, which shimmered in the sunlight. Robert stopped, mouth agape, and stared at her in recognition.

"Marian..."


	11. The Ripple

Marian hung her head in shame as Robert looked down at her dirty features. He was speechless, she could tell, but then, they heard a clatter a ways down the road. Quickly, Marian shoved her hat back on and stuffed her hair haphazardly back underneath it.

"Don't tell anyone," she half-pleaded, half-demanded. Still shocked and unable to answer, Robert held her horse steady as she mounted and they casually came up onto the road again.

"'Ey Scarlet, 'tis Rob," a booming voice said, nudging his arm with a massive hand, and a wooden ox driven cart rolled up to them. John sat on the driver's bench, holding the reigns while Scarlet sat next to him, in the middle of taking his shirt off and throwing it back into the cart bed. Robert glanced at Marian, embarrassed for her at Scarlet's lack of modesty, but she avoided his gaze and shifted her weight, leaning back, her palms resting against the sweaty rump of her horse.

"'Oo's 'e?" John asked, pulling up next to him, and perused Marian lazily.

"Uh...um..." Robert mumbled, but Marian jumped down confidently from her horse and gave the large man a hearty handshake, "M'name's Matthew, nice to meet thee!"

John returned her smile, nearly wrenching her arm from the socket as he shook her hand.

"Well, if 'ur a friend o' Rob's then 'ur a friend o' mine, m'name's John Little o' 'Athersage," he said proudly, then leaned in close to her and whispered, "But as 'oo can see, I'm no' tha' small." Marian grinned at his joke and her attention drew to the shirtless young man who sat beside him.

Marian held out her hand to him, but he just stared at it with contempt. Marian looked to John, and then to Robert, who shrugged. Uncomfortable, Marian mounted her horse again, and followed the cart abreast with Robert, heading away from the town of Nottingham.

"Scarlet's a bit moody today, he's not that rude all the time," Robert reassured her, once they were out of hearing distance. Marian just looked at the cart in deep thought. Robert wondered at this sudden change of disposition. This went on for a while, and then, out of the blue, she asked, "What's in the cart?"

"Most likely loot, stolen from an unlucky imperial passerby."

"Like gold and things?" she asked.

"Aye, that is what we do?"

"Steal other people's possessions?" her brow furrowed.

"Not so different from thee..."

"What I steal is none of thy business," she said, turning her head back to the road, trying to drop the subject.

"No really, I want to know why someone like thee," he hesitated, knowing he was pushing her too far, "Came all the way from _Barnesdale_ to steal food from the traders of Nottingham."

"I SAID, it's none of thy business." Scarlet turned around to look at them, and they resumed their attentions back to the road, then soon he turned around again, shaking his head in confusion as he did so.

"Where are we going?"

"It's none of thy business," he mocked her, and received a shooting glare in his direction.

"I think I shall leave thee now," she said hotly, and started to turn her horse around. Robert blocked her path, "Come join us," he said, a wicked grin on his face.

"Join thee in dining," she asked, narrowing her eyes, "Or join thee as a thief?"

"Birds of a feather-"

"I steal for the POOR, the WEAK, and the HELPLESS. I do what I can for my poor, mistreated people. I don't rely on Great Prince John, who sits on his lazy crupper all day, milking the peasants of their small wealth...or lack there of. I do not believe that the 'Lionhearted' is ever going to come back from his silly land war and save us from his brother's wrath, I spit on this country, and all who rule it," her face was red now and she halted her horse, fuming, and jumped down. John and Scarlet had stopped the cart and were watching her with looks of amazement on their faces.

"I steal for the need of the people. Though many do not know me, they know that there is hope. And I am one of the few who carry this hope through these times. I steal..." she paused, wiping the spit from her cheek and searching for the right words, "For the good of all of England. And that is more than what thee can say about thy life, tha cob-roller, scar-faced, bootlegged, OUTLAW!" she said, stomping her boot hard on the ground to prove her point.

Robert's face was placid, and he looked down on her. He swung his leg back over his horse and dismounted, and she stepped back, unsure of what he might do. He reached out slowly and grabbed the front of her thatched cotton shirt, and hefted her up to his eye level, her feet rising onto her toes. He bared his teeth at her and said, in a harsh whisper, so that the others couldn't hear, "Curb thy wicked tongue about thy king, or I shall forget that thou art a lady."

Robert let out an angry growl, lugged her forcefully over to the side of the road, pushing her up against a broad birch tree, bringing his face close to hers "Or maybe I won't."

His breath was hot and rank in her face, and she felt the tension in his body as he held it against hers. His eyes were piercing and cold, glimmering with an anger that lay unquenched in his young bones.

A small, quiet whimper emitted from Marian as she raised her gaze to meet his striking blue eyes, and Robert saw the look of pure terror on her face. Her hat had tumbled off in the rough transport, exposing her long hair, and it framed her dirty face like a strange halo.

Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit it to keep back her building emotions. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he let go of her and she stood there, looking up into his eyes as if searching for a source of his fury. Then, Marian pushed away from him, bending down to pick up her hat from the dirty ground. All were silent as she scrambled onto her horse, turned it around, kicked it into a gallop, sending a foul glare behind her shoulder.

Robert stood, clenching his fists in her wake.

* * *

Robert sat on a large boulder that overlooked a slow and lazy river. The stars were out, but he paid no attention to the night sky, for he was wrapped in his own thoughts. A night owl hooted in the distance, and Robert raised his head from his arms that rested on his knees to glance in the direction. He was relieved that it was just an animal...he didn't want to be bothered now.

Was he really as terrible a person as Marian had said he was? Robert hadn't chosen his life, he was welcomed into a Nottingham thieves' guild after he had...

Was he also wrong for being loyal to his king? He had never gone on a mission overseas, but at home, he was a true fighter, killing all tyrants who scorned the crown. He believed King Richard would soon come back and replace his Brother on the throne and praise all who had helped him. He could see it now... the parades... celebrations... gold...

That foolish girl! She was also was wrong about not having to say anything about his life. Huh! What did she know? His life had been such a terrible mess of secrets, lies, and gold. A reoccurring problem in his life, gold. His father, the greedy swine, had pushed all these terrible things onto him. His childhood was a travesty. A chain of crude, distorted, grotesque events. Some of he'd not like to remember...some of he'd like to forget.

Robert picked up a small rock and threw it over the edge into the river. It made a pleasant 'plop' sound as it hit the water. He quietly watched the ripples ebb from the center and then fade slowly into nothingness. His thoughts drifted again to Marian, and how surprisingly unsettling her face looked framed by her hair, a sharp and fiery woman, although softness held in her watery eyes.

He shook his head violently, his peace of mind was suddenly destroyed, and he cursed the skinny wench for barging in on his most private reflections.

A crack of a twig behind him made Robert turn suddenly, his hand flying to the dagger attached to his belt, only to relax when he realized that it was Scarlet. He silently to sit down next to him, and they both listened to the sounds of the forest. Will Scarlet was his closest friend apart from John, and he had been proved useful many times during their friendship, be it a fight, or a scout, or a barterer.

"Say, I was thinking about that girl..." Scarlet began.

"Seems that she has been lurking around in my thoughts tonight too," Robert growled, picking up another rock and throwing it into the water, again watching the ripple spread until it disappeared.

"Did thou know she was a girl?"

"Aye."

"Who is she then?"

"Naught but a silly lass," Robert scoffed, then looked at Scarlet sideways.

"Ah, thou art keeping something from me," Scarlet chided, nudging his friend in the side, "Have thee had a tussle in the hay with her already?"

Robert shot a dangerous glare at him.

"I take that as a 'Nay'?" Scarlet grinned roguishly, "Well then, may I have one with her then?"

"Scarlet!" he exclaimed, shocked by his lewdness.

"What?" Scarlet asked laughing, "Holding a pretty lass like that against a tree this afternoon, and pulling her dress over her head didn't come across your mind?"

"Actually, it hadn't," Robert stood, his appetite for conversation suddenly ruined, "And 'tis in thy best interest that thou stay away from that girl?"

"Why? Jealous that she'd fall for my roguish charm, and not thee?" Scarlet taunted, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Nay, 'tis just that, she's just as dangerous as she is silly. 'Twouldn't be wise to tame her." Robert bowed and started to walk down the path to the camp.

"Who said anything about taming her?" Scarlet hissed. Robert turned back around, "Well, tha wouldn't want a wolf to bite off thy...hand...would thee?"

* * *

Marian tore off her shirt and tenderly touched the purple bruises that had appeared under her rib. She'd had bruises before, and this wasn't one of the worse ones that she had ever had. She carefully unwrapped the cloth that bound her breasts flat and let out a sigh. No one said pretending to be a man was easy. A knock on the door made her shrug on a jacket and quickly button it up before she pulled the heavy wooden bar from the slots and kicked the barn door open, letting a hooded man into the shadowed darkness of the small building.

He carried a tray of bread, cheese and water. He set it on an empty barrel and she fell to her knees, tearing at the bread with her teeth, and gulping down the water with relish. The man chuckled, taking a seat on a hay bale and let the brown hood of his habit fall to his shoulders. He waited until Marian had eaten the last of the cheese to greet her formally.

"Marian, my child of God, I am glad of thy presence," the man said, and Marian came to catch his hand in hers and pressed it to her face.

"And I too, Friar Tuck," she said, bowing her head as he said a prayer of blessing.

"Now tell me child, why have thou not visited for a while," he said leaning his plump elbows on the ledge behind him.

"I've been busy,"

"Aye, rightly so, for the bag that tha gave me today was the biggest one yet!" his fat cheeks shook with laughter.

"Tuck," she said, quietly, "I miss the forest."

"We all miss things of which we do not have,"

"When will this conflict end?" she asked, trying hard to hide the whining tone in her voice, "When will I be able to return to the forest?"

"Tha speaks of the forest as if it were a loved one," Tuck said, placing a understanding hand over hers.

"Sometimes I feel that it is..." she said, her voice faltering, "...I miss the smell of sap that used to linger on my fingers, and the taste of peppermint leaves on my tongue...I miss Sarah, and Nan, and all of the forestpeople."

"Resolutions will come in due time, my child, and weather or not thou knows it, thou art aiding in it's progress." She shrugged, and Tuck got up and took the tray from atop the barrel.

"I hope tha had enough to eat."

"Sometimes it seems like I never do."


	12. Bonds of Blood

The Sheriff, in his angry rage, threw a chair across the room and it crashed into a table, splintering into little bits as the broken pieces shattered across the floor. The messenger cowered in a corner, watching between his fingers as the Sheriff wrecked havoc to his bedchamber. He watched as the sharp-featured man as he tore down the gaudy draperies from his four-poster bed, stomping on them as he did so. He flung open the large windows and screamed out into the late-summer night, "ROBERT, I HAVE DISOWNED THEE ONCE IN A LIFETIME, AND I WILL NOT HESITATE TO DISOWN THEE IN THE NEXT!"

Then, he sat at his desk, or what was left of it, and promptly took out a piece of paper, dipped his quill in an ink well, blotted the pen, and started to write.

"Notice: All persons in connection with the outlaw ROBERT LOXLEY, shall be rightfully punished, hanged, or branded. If he is found, bring him ALIVE to the Royal Castle, where his sentence will be executed forthwith. There is a disclosed reward for the return of this man when he is found," the Sheriff muttered as he wrote it. He signed it with a flourish, rolling it up and stamping it with his family crest. He shoved it into the still cowering boy's hands and ordered, "Post this all over the city, and make it quick." The lad bowed and scuttled out of the room saying, "Aye, Sheriff Loxley."

* * *

Marian awoke to the sounds of screaming women. She wiped her eyes, still groggy from her sleeping state, scrambled to the door, and peered through a crack. The nuns of the convent were being tied by ropes and dragged harshly across the street to awaiting castle guards. One nun fell, and Marian covered her mouth to stifle a cry as one of the men kicked her and pulled her roughly up to her feet, pushing her to join the other nine nuns, who were in the same state, begging for their lives.

"We have reason to believe that the Sisters of Saint Bridgetta have been aiding the outlaw Robert of Loxley," one of the guards said to a pleading Friar Tuck.

"Robert Loxley?" Marian whispered and pressed her ear closer to the wall, trying hard to listen to the guard.

"The Sheriff has ordered for all accomplices of the bandit be persecuted for their crime of high treason against the crown."

"No! The Sheriff!" Marian cried softly, her brow furrowing with anger. Was this Sheriff the same one who had captured her mother? She strained again to hear the rest of his speech.

"They are to be hanged at dawn," the guard said, and hopped on his horse leading the men holding the nuns to the city of Nottingham.

"Nothing can be done to save them?" Tuck asked, stopping the lawman.

"I wouldn't even try."

After the last of the Sheriff's men had left, Marian opened the door with a great strength and ran to the sobbing man. His red-rimmed eyes looked up at her, "They have been taken...even Mother Marie."

"Come, we shall go to see Robert of Loxley of whom they speak, and hopefully we will prevent this ugly thing from happening." She helped the man onto her horse and rode down the road in the direction that she hoped was the right one.

* * *

"I...I'm afraid I don't know where I am," Marian said, dismounting the horse and leading Friar Tuck through the dense forest.

"We're losing time," Tuck worried, wringing his hands.

"Quiet, so I can think straight," Marian ordered and she stood silently, listening for sounds of life. Sweat dripped off her nose as she waited for a smell, or a murmur of something recognizable in the forest. Suddenly, a burst of laughter billowed from the right of them.

"This way," Marian called with replenished hope, and led the friar on the horse through the trees to the origins of the sound. They came upon a clearing of sorts, and Marian drew her breath as she took in the sights.

Tattered huts were erected throughout the makeshift camp, and tiny fires lit the place. Bow targets were set up in a far corner, and as her eyes swept the clearing, they came upon a gathering of about fifteen men. They were all sitting around a campfire, obviously listening to someone's story. Breathing a silent prayer, Marian stepped hesitantly into the clearing and called, "Robert of Loxley!"

Nothing prepared her for the sudden clamor to their weapons, and and unexpectedly, all arrows were pointing at her.

"What dost thou want with him?" A shadowed figure asked.

"I need his help."

The shadowed figure pushed his way through the crowd. He stepped into the light, and Marian could see his face clearly.

Robert had seemed to change since Marian last saw him. He stood with his legs apart, a defensive stance, a dagger strapped to his belt. His shirt was dirty at the collar, and is broad shoulders stretched at the green jerkin he wore. A slight growth of stubble grew on his chin, his scarred face stood out shockingly in the torchlight, yet his piercing blue eyes remained the same. Her mother's emerald ring still glittered on his hand, making Marian slightly flush with anger.

"Robert, I need thy help,"

"Oh, I see," he said, his brow furrowing, "Tha first insults me and then comes crawling back after."

"Look," she said stubbornly, coming almost nose to nose with him, "As I remember it, The day was hot, and tempers rise, tha would've done the same thing under the circumstances." Her intenseness excited the thieves in the clearing.

"Is that an apology?" he asked, one eyebrow raised, his cool azure eyes shooting arrows into her.

"I need thy help," she repeated, averting her eyes and changing the subject, backing away from him a pace.

"What can a rag-tag bunch of ungovernable thieves do for mylady?" Scarlet stepped forward, smiling gently at Marian

"How did tha find this place?" Robert asked, glaring at Scarlet, but completely perplexed on how she came to find him.

"LISTEN!" she shouted, slightly peeved at the gang's nonchalant manner. and everyone crowded in close, "The Sheriff has taken the Sisters of Saint Bridgetta as prisoners..."

"Women of the church?" Scarlet asked from the crowd. Much, standing next to him, said, "The Sheriff does whatever he pleases."

"...And he plans to hang them at dawn," Marian said, and looked beseechingly to the men around her, "These women have helped me in every way they could, and they are not guilty of their crimes. Please, help me..."

"Ten hanged nuns...'twould be wrong if we did not help them..." someone said from the middle of the crowd.

"Aye, I would never be able to forgive myself..."

"I am ready to do battle for this fine woman..."

"Count me in..."

"Me too..."

Robert looked around at the determined faces of the thieves, and at the fat monk on the horse, then to the proud face of Marian who looked expectantly at him. He nodded his head in agreement, "I owe the church much, and give no allegiance to the Sheriff." The way he said "Sheriff" with such malice made a shiver run up Marian's spine.

* * *

Marian, Robert, and Scarlet leaned against the wall nearest to the city square, where the nuns were stocked and shackled, waiting for the signal from Alan. The guards were doing their rounds throughout the town, carrying dangerous looking staffs and metal plated armor. Even the balmy late-summer night could not keep Marian's teeth from chattering.

"Nervous?" Scarlet asked her, noticing the soft clicking. Marian looked over her shoulder at Robert, who was anxiously lurking like a hungry wolf hunts it's dinner, before she said, "A little." A small smile creeped across his face, before he turned serious again, "Dost thou really think we are that horrible?"

"What?" Marian asked distantly, blinking away from Robert, who was glancing fitfully in their direction.

"What tha said to us...to Robert that day…"

She sighed and began to roll up her sleeves carefully, and her tone then softened, "I am sure tha has thy reasons for living a life that tha does."

He sent her a devilish smile, which made Marian feel uneasy.

A shout from Alan made Marian startle, and Robert looked at the two of them suspiciously and said, "Let's go."

Four men were already hacking away at the stocks with axes when they got to the stocks. The sisters were cheering victoriously but Marian hushed them with stern warnings. Reeling in the chaos, she saw Tuck holding Sister Mother's hand as she was being hastily unshackled. She sighed at the sight of his devotion to Mother, and was wondering what to do with her shaky hands, when she turned and spied some one creeping behind Robert.

"ROBERT! LOOK OUT!" She screamed, and he turned quickly and caught a castle guard by the arms and threw them down with a sharp motion. The guard quickly reached out for his leg as he plummeted, but Marian was there and smashed a loosened board from the stocks over his head. She looked triumphantly down onto the sooty face of the guard and kicked him with contempt in the stomach.

Robert bowed slightly to her, in thankfulness, and without Marian's warning this time, whirled around to attack another guard that had come upon them.

"I thought Alan gave the all-clear!" Marian shouted to John, who was helping one of the last nuns from her bonds. She aided him in prying loose the shackles. Once all the sisters were free, Marian knew I was her job to secure their safety.

"I thought 'e di' too," he said, and Marian led the nuns to the ox-driven cart hidden in the woods beyond the square that John had driven just this afternoon.

"Marian," one of the Sisters huffed, short of breath, trying to keep up with the young woman's pace, "I-I-I-knew thee would save us."

"Not without help though," Marian said, helping her into the small cart, and going back to get the others. When she returned, the muddy square had turned into a horrific battle between Sherwood's outlaws and Nottingham's lawmen. She dodged a swinging sword as she nimbly climbed the wooden platform where just minutes before the nuns had been trapped in the hated stocks.

"RETREAT!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. The men heard her and gave their opponents one more taste of their thieving strategy of fighting. Marian whooped as she jumped down from the dias, right into the chest of a strange, some how familiar looking, dark-bearded man.

"Greetings," he said, and Marian could smell the stinking stench of ale that hung on his breath, "Thou art a brave lady to surge against the Sheriff."

"Anyone who takes a mother from their child should be confronted."

"Is that so?" the Sheriff asked, a bit confused.

"And anyone who would be so bold as to capture women of the church and punish them for crimes they did not do, should absolutely...ROT...IN...HELL!" she shouted, spitting into his face. His cheeks and forehead grew a deep purple color as he wiped away the spittle with the back of his black gloved hand. She started to run away, but was caught by two of his patrolmen, and was dragged against her will after the disengaging Sheriff and his troops.

"Have with her what thou will…then bring her to me," he hissed through sharp teeth.

"ROBERT!" she screamed, wildly trying to fight away the men who held her in their clutches.

He turned when he heard his name being called. Scanning the square, across the retreating thieves, the stocks, the well, and then saw her. Marian. She was struggling to free herself from the vice-like grips of two steadfast soldiers, he saw her kick one, and then pull herself away from another, only to be caught again by someone entirely different. He saw them pulling at her legs and ripping at her skirts, and as hard as she kicked, he knew she would soon succumb to any horror the guards put her through.

Robert could not contain the fathomless rage he felt for his father. It had been so many years ago that they had met face to face, and Charles Loxley had turned his back on Robert. Refusing to let him come back, Robert fled, and adopted the lifestyle that he lived now. He now watched the man he hated most watch in amusement as his men grabbed at the crying, kicking girl, and begin to take her with him, the girl who hated him to no end.

"MARIAN!" he shouted, and mustered up the energy to stampede towards them, and tackle the Sheriff and his men, sending her flying into the brown mud. The guards started foreward, but halted at the command of the Sherriff.

Both men wrestled to gain control of one another, and Marian stood there, panting dumbly, unsure of what to do.

"Marian...go...now!" Robert said, pinning the Sheriff.

"Not without thee!"

"Stubborn...isn't she?" his father said mockingly through clenched teeth. Robert glared at him.

"Go!" Robert barked, and with one last reluctant look at the tangled duo, she ran out of the square, hellbent for leather. After he watched her go, Robert turned back to to his father, his face red with anger, "Murdering nuns now...are we?" The Sheriff just laughed heartily, "Aye, thee must remember that I am an evil man."

"How could I forget," Robert said, rolling off of him, and blocking a punch.

"I still love thee, tha knows..." the Sheriff now said, faking kindheartedness, and circled him.

"Lies! All of them!" Robert said, wishing he could cover his ears.

"...And all I want is some love in return..."

"Thou art looking in the wrong places. Using the wrong methods."

"...All I want is my son back..." the Sheriff said, letting his blows cease to none.

"And all I wanted was a father," Robert hissed, and saw Marian expertly riding Horse towards them, "Be aware that there is no bond between us, only blood...blood that I've wished many a time that I did not have."

Marian halted Horse and jumped down from the saddle, picking up a discarded sword, holding it defensively in hand. Her gaze darted from Robert to the Sheriff, both muddy and breathing heavily from the fight. Feeling his words were said, Robert noiselessly started towards Marian and Horse, claiming his place in the saddle. He looked down at Marian, who had dropped the sword, looking up expectantly at him. He reached down his hand to her, and she locked eyes with Robert. She pulled her up behind him in the saddle, and she wrapped her arms protectively around his waist, glaring hatefully at the Sheriff. The horse reared and Robert raced out into the dawning light, Marian wondering how personal their dispute was.

"Art thou okay?" a guard asked behind the Sheriff. The sharp man smiled, then laughed heartily.

"I feel better than I have in years..." and in his mind he tallied a score on his board for finding Robert's weak spot...the girl...the girl who looked quite familiar, though he could not put a finger on when he last saw her.

* * *

Marian relaxed her hold on Robert's body as they entered the safety of the forest. Her eyes were drooping in exhaustion, though she was unsure that she would sleep, if at all, when they got back to Robert's camp. Her anger was still bubbling as she remembered the searing touch of the Sheriff's gloves on her skin, and the sharp pierce of his blue eyes. Robert cleared his throat, and this startled Marian, he had been mostly quiet on the way back.

"He is...was...my father," he said, and Marian could feel his muscles tense in his back through his jerkin.

"Thy father took my mother away from me..." she said, a cold tang to her voice.

"He has done many things, though I do not hold myself responsible for his actions."

"I hate him..." Marian said, and the tiny hairs on the back of Robert's neck stood up, just to hear someone else say those words. He had repeated the mantra over and over, so many years in his head, never telling anyone that he was in close relation to the horrid Sheriff of Nottingham. He wanted her to say it again.

Marian's cool hands felt strangely comforting placed around his hips, and he could not remember a time when any other woman, besides that red-headed strumpet that he had kissed once on a dare in Nottingham, had ever been this voluntarily close to him.

As they approached the camp, the whole company was standing outside, motionless and still in the early morning twilight. Marian and Robert rode into the clearing and dismounted slowly, staring back at the mixture of people. And it was a sight to see...people who would never talk to each other were standing side by side, in a promising group. Nuns amongst rogues, sisters with brothers, women beside men, but all with good in their hearts. They watched as Mother stepped forward, and said clearly, "We have conquered the Sheriff!"

A raucous cheer rose up from the shabby clearing, and Robert was sure that Prince John had heard the noise from his secluded solar in his castle, and that he had the metallic taste of royal defeat on his tongue.

Marian silently watched Robert lead Horse to a grassy field beyond the camp, and he looked up from what he was doing and looked at her, as if he was trying to see something in her, trying to fathom something she could not yet understand.

She stared back at him, unable to tear away her eyes from his figure silhouetted in the morning light. People milled around her, busy once again, and she lost sight of him, but only for a moment. His brown hair fell lightly into his blue eyes, and she thought she could see a timid smile cross his lips, but then as fleetingly as it had come, the smile vanished, leaving Marian wondering what it all meant.


	13. Devotion

While everyone was sleeping, Marian untied her horse from a birch tree and tightened the leather straps of the saddle on his sleek back. He neighed a bit, and Marian stroked his muzzle, hoping to soothe him. Quietly, she led the horse out of the grassy clearing, and into the dark depths of Sherwood Forest. A trickle of a nearby stream was heard in the distance, and she followed the sound, coming to a shallow river that flowed over smooth rocks.

Her horse bent his neck to drink, and she did the same, cupping her hands and bringing the cool water to her lips. Thirst fulfilled, she stood and took his reins again. A figure leaned leisurely against a tree in front of her, his face shadowed by the overhanging fronds. She took a cautious step back, apprehensive of this spying stranger.

"Leaving so soon?" the man asked, stepping out from the tree, revealing his scarred face. Marian turned away from Robert saying, "I must."

"'Twill be risky..."

"'Tis a chance I'll have to take," she said. Marian looked up at him then, "Please take care of the nuns, especially Sister Hannah, she's old and frail..."

"I will," he promised.

"...And Tuck too, I'm afraid that his judgment isn't what it used to be..."

"Aye."

"...And…" she continued, her mind rushing with orders for him.

"Marian, I-" he paused, running his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh, "...here."

She looked at the object in his outthrust hand, and then up at him in awe with her weary mahogany eyes, "The ring."

Marian could feel the salty tears welling up in her eyes as she watched him, take her hand and slipped the emerald jewel on her finger wordlessly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to speak. Robert's warm, weathered hands lingered there for a while, and he said, "Thou hast proved thyself worthy."

"I must go," she quickly breathed, not reclaiming her hand.

"Why not stay, Marian, thou art safe in these woods...away from danger...Tha cannot return to the Abbey…" he shook his head, genuinely concerned.

"Understand, Robert, please..." she said, slowly letting go of his fingers. He released her, and watched her lead the horse through the river, wading in the shallow waters. When she reached the other side, she turned back to face him.

Moonlight danced with the ripples in the river, sending dappled shadows on the figures in the night. Marian stood on one side of the bank, Robert on the other. Nothing seemed to move, and everything was still and quiet, it was as if the whole universe had paused it's life to look upon the two people, waiting for them to burst apart into a million shattered pieces. They locked eyes, and Marian could hear Sarah's words echoing inside her head, _"...Remember to look harder my child..."_

She hooked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, taking in Robert's rigid body and the pained expression on his scarred face for the first time. She could see a man, troubled, but determined not become his father. A heart, strong and rhythmic, torn between good and evil, betrayed by everything he had put his trust in. A young man who did not vow any devotion to anyone...except perhaps her.

_"...See things that others do not..."_ she whispered to herself. And she had. She couldn't deny it.

The passion in his eyes spoke to her like nothing ever had before. He had eyes like a hungry wolf, fierce and terrifying, wild and free, and he was unable to be tamed. A leaping, bounding, magnificent beast of a spirit, imposing and frightening as the wild wolf himself. Much like herself. She saw herself in him.

The impatient stomping of her horse brought her out of the daze, and Marian quickly turned her face away from Robert, not letting him see the silent tears that streamed down from her eyes.

* * *

Alan received a sack of gold coins and weighed them expertly in his palm. A grin widened on his freckled face as he raised his eyes to meet the Sheriff's gaze. The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, playing with the long forgotten silver-tipped arrow.

"Thou hast served me well, Alan, my boy," he said. Allan beamed with pride, "Aye sir, I did my best to please thee."

"Though the bandits got away," the Sheriff said, preening his beard, "I feel as if I have accomplished something."

"What's that?" Allan asked, distractedly, marveling at the coins. The Sheriff rose, strolled to his mantle, tracing the rivets in the wood with the arrow, "I have a plan..."

"Hmmm," he murmured.

"The girl..."

"Marian?" Alan asked, looking at him.

"Aye, Marian," he walked across the rooms to his bookshelf, tapping odd books, before he pulled out one. Paging through it, he hummed softly, when at last, he halted at a page. Stepping up behind the boy, he placed the book in front of him, "Read."

Allan picked up the book, upside down and said, "Yes, I see what thou art thinking."

"Stupid boy," the Sheriff picked up the book and cuffed him over the head with it, "Tha can't read..." Allan shrugged, putting the pouch of coins into his leggings pocket. The Sheriff stroked his beard vainly with the arrow, saying, "We shall have to wait for the right time to execute this plan..."


	14. Caged Rage

A strong wind tossed the dry, brown leaves past Sarah's doorway, and she caught a scent that seemed strange to her. Standing, she pulled her cloak from its resting-place on a jutting rock and wrapped it around her shoulders. She walked out the door and down the rocks carefully, feeling the growing unease as she wandered farther and farther away from the safety of her home. The crisp autumn winds whipped her wispy hair in all directions, and she paused by a turned oak tree to breathe deeply once more.

Something dangerous was on the rise. She could taste it. Whatever it was, it was far from here, but not too far away to still it's tangy scent. The woman's eyes narrowed behind her mask as she mentally noted that this was the third bad omen to rear it's ugly head this season.

The first was a lack of beechnuts on the forest floor. Every fall, children and wild pigs both would rustle through the underbrush looking for the edible nuts. Squirrels and chipmunks would also benefit from the plentiful food to guarantee their survival through the winter. Though, this year, the nuts were hard to find, almost too scarce to count as a asset to the forest folk. Lack of food, as small as a beechnut, could prove fatal for many people this coming winter.

The second bad omen was the sight of Nan's swollen belly. Although she had only seen it from afar, on the times she crept to Helen's clearing to spy or gain knowledge about the goings on around her, Marian's friend appeared to be pregnant. Sarah would swear on a feather from a fallen angel's wings that the child that she carried was one that was birthed in the May. A Maychild. Sarah knew that the babe would be born in the winter, and would most likely die, and not live to be a year old. She shook her head, thinking about the pain the new baby would bring to Nan.

Sarah sighed, and climbed back up the step-like stones to her small, dark cave. The scent of rotting flesh clung to her nostrils, and threatened to cause her nausea. She held a hand against her masked mouth and rushed into the cave, breathing in the stale cavern air. Sarah sank down onto a banket, supporting her head in her hands. She turned on her side, trying to push the murky, somber premonitions from her mind. Her thoughts drifted to Marian, and she wondered how she fared...

* * *

An old, frail woman pursued the merchant's stalls, leaning heavily on her ashen cane as she did so. There was a malformed hunch on her back, and it caused her to bend to accommodate the deformation. Her hood was pulled low over her face to conceal her face from sight, though no one would want to gaze upon her features. People bustled around her, hurrying to be on their way, paying no mind to the creeping old crone who emitted a wheeze each time she stepped on her right leg.

A small, blond boy ran ahead of her, almost knocking her off balance. She let out an angry grumble, and called after him, "'Ey, tha should watch where thou art going!"

The dirty-face lad ignored her and pushed roughly past some more people with the same forgotten courtesy. The woman rubbed her lower back, leaning against a merchant's booth. The rich, haughty merchant looked at her with disinterest, and she liked it that way. As soon as he went to help another customer, she slipped a few items from his display into her cloak. Rubbing her back again, she limped onward, leaving the trader wondering where his food had gone off too.

"Thief!" someone cried, and the old, frail woman lifted her head with sudden interest towards the shouter. A fat, red-faced shopkeeper shook his fist angrily in the distance, and the blond boy from before drove through the tight crowd, his arms overflowing with loaves of bread, fresh vegetables, and rich silks. Marian watched him hustle past, then turned her attention to his pursuers.

A brute of a guard parted the throng, rushing to catch up with the small thief. A wry smile crossed her lips as she waited for him to pass, and then casually stuck her cane in front of his racing feet, tripping him. The guard plummeted to the ground, letting out an angry shout as he did so. The blond boy turned around to witness the fallen guard, and the hunchbacked woman raised her head, revealing her shadowed features, that were anything but old. Smiling, she waved him on, and watched him disappear into the crowd.

Before the startled guard could rise from his position, the woman fled into an alleyway and out of the city of Nottingham, never once looking back. She entered the surrounding forest, and limped a ways before she put two fingers to her mouth and whistled. A jingling answered her call, mixed with the stomping of hooves, as a brown horse came to her, nuzzling her face, pushing her hood back.

Marian dropped her cloak and unstrapped the heavy sack that pulled on her shoulders, giving the impression of a hump underneath her cloak.

"Oh, thou should have seen it," she giggled, unlacing the skirt of her dress, uncovering more bulging bags strapped to her slim waist, hanging down past her knees, "'Twas the most delightful thing..."

Her jovial laughter echoed through the forest, "I could've sworn that that guard was going to come after me in full force." She shoved her skirt into a bag and slid into loose leggings before loading up the horse. Bringing the hood of her green cloak over her ears to protect from the fall chill, she patted the horse's flank lovingly, "Come, we go our usual route."

Marian added a log to the crackling fire and sat back down on her soft pile of dead pine needles. The horse was noisily munching on some grain some yards away, and an owl hooted in the distance. She took a swig of her pouch, which was filled with mead, and caught a dribble with her sleeve. The sweet liquid burned down her throat as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

She thought ruefully of Robert.

Lately, she had been longing for companionship. She lived the life of a rogue, alone and wandering, the only friend she could trust was her horse. She lived a life where she could trust no one, let alone make any friends, tell anyone her name. A life that brought her adventure, though dangerous, it grew tiresome to be on guard all the time. She lived a life that wasn't as appealing to her anymore. Weeks of trekking through the forest paths, smuggling supplies from right under the Sheriff's nose, to the poor people of Sherwood had taken its toll on her.

Dark, fatigued circles had appeared under her eyes, and she had gotten even skinnier than she was at the beginning of the spring. Her spirits had dropped, and she had lost all hope for the return of peace among England. Also, there was an unsettling feeling in her chest, a strange lonely pain that could not be filled by anything...

She opened her eyes to discover that it had started snowing. Delicate flakes floated down to land on her face, before melting. They clung to her lashes, and the corners of her mouth curved upward in a smile, probably the first time she had exercised those muscles in a few months. The warmth of the nearby fire made her sleepy, and soon she had ignored the ache in her heart for the ache of her bones, closing her eyes.

* * *

"Wake up!" a harsh voice called her out of her wintry reveries. Marian opened her eyes with a start, shaking her head free from the sleep induced drowsiness. A dark figure loomed over her menacingly, "Wake up tha silly wench!" She received a boot under her rib, making her cry out.

Two pairs of gloved hands heaved her from the snow-covered ground, and gruffly yanked her past the forest surroundings. The men were dressed in dark green, shiny badges holding their cloaks in place. Foresters. She was dragged to a large trail, away from her dying fire. Another man was trying to take her bucking horse too, but the strong willed mare was giving up a fight for her freedom.

"Stop!" she cried, kicking fiercely at her attackers. Like her horse, she wasn't one to remain helpless in a situation such as the predicament she was in. Marian would rather die in battle than killed while in chains. It was a shame to be caught off guard, while she was sleeping. What did they want?

"No! Stop!" she yelled again, struggling to get free. A fist met her nose, and the world careened around her. Men. Horses. Cage. People. Flames. Screams.

She was pushed cruelly into a large wooden cage, and her hands tied with thick rope to it's lower bars. Other people were tied similarly around her, silent, watching her with fearful eyes. Marian tasted blood that poured from her nose, and shook at her bonds.

"Bastards! Let me free!" she screamed. The cage lurched into movement, pulled by large horses, and the men, foresters, trailed behind. Kicking at the thick wooden bars of the cage, she screamed again, "Why? Thou art the very pigs of hell! I demand to be set free! Beasts...swine is what thou art! Argh!"

"Someone shut her up," the driver complained over his shoulder. A royal forester sighed and quickened his pace to reach into the cage, grabbing for her with gnarled hands, "'Ey, git o'er 'ere."

As she scooted away from him, a booted foot jutted out from behind her and between the openings of the cage, catching the forester in the shoulder, making him stumble back. The forester's face grew angry as he looked behind her at the unknown young man, "Thee again, eh?" Using the butt of the sword he had extracted from his belt, the forester struck the young man in the stomach, making him groan.

The young man fell to his knees, knocking into Marian as he did. His hands were tied to a higher bar, so he landed in a pray-like position, his forehead resting against the bar. Satisfied, the forester fell back to his position behind the large cage. Marian looked around her at the ragged people in the cage, then turned her attention to the man who tried to help her.

"Will?" she asked, amazed at the sight of a friend, "Will Scarlet?"

He raised his head weakly from the bar and nodded. Marian scooted closer to him, as close as the ropes allowed. She said, "What's going on?"

"They're trying to reach their quota," he said, still on his knees.

"Quota?" Marian asked, puzzled. Scarlet winced as he twisted to face her, "The Sheriff wants an certain amount of scoundrels in his dungeons at the end of the se'nnight."

"All these people, to please the Sheriff?"

"It's better us," Scarlet nudged towards the foresters, "Than them."

"How'd tha get in here, then?" she asked. Scarlet closed his eyes, shaking his head, "I'm a fool of a thief..." he leaned in closer to her, "Got caught in the open, counting my money."

"And..." Marian said, looking around at the sad people around her, "What about them?"

"Same petty reasons..."

Tears welled up in Marian's eyes, "What's our fate, then?" she asked, already knowing the answer already.

"Death."

She turned her face away from him, refusing to let him see her cry. Though, he probably knew she was. Through her tears, she saw an old woman, tied in like manner. Next to the old woman, there was a graying old man, slumped over into her lap. Her hands were free enough that she could gently caress the old man's sleeping face.

Something inside of her told Marian that the man was not asleep.

Her heart leapt in her throat as she pondered her fate and the fate of the others in this wretched cage. They were to die at the hands of the Sheriff, all because of his wonting need to kill, kill, kill. And all she could do was stare at a sad faced old woman, lovingly stroking her dead husband's face.

Marian silently vowed her promise to personally murder the Sheriff.

* * *

Scarlet was awoken by a lurching motion. They were at the entrance of the Nottingham dungeons. Some called them the very gates of Hell. Others said that you were as good as dead the minute you crossed the threshold. Many said that God himself had shunned everything evil in the world to live in the depths of the dark, threatening prison.

He believed them all.

He looked over at Marian, who was awake now, surveying her surroundings. Her hands were clenched into angry fists as she saw the castle guards coming towards them. Scarlet stood, standing protectively behind Marian. She looked up at him with fear-filled eyes, "Don't let them separate us, Scarlet."

"I won't," he said, though his tone wasn't convincing.

The cage's ramp was let down and the guards and foresters untied the dispirited people from the wagon and into the dungeon. It was agonizing, waiting for their turn, Marian shaking with fear. Will was taken first, and he made it hard for the guard by dragging his feet. It was all he could do to spite the royal pigs.

Then, Marian was dragged out after him, her hands tied behind her back, but before she could join the other people in the passageway, a voice called out, "Henry, bring that girl here." Marian froze, turning her head around to look at the speaker. A man in a dark cloak waited by a brick wall.

The guard pushed her towards the man, and she made her feet obey. The snow had just started falling, and the top of her head was already dusted with flakes. She stared at the ground as the man in black inspected her. A leather glove appeared from within the folds of the cloak and tipped her chin up. It was then that she saw who it was.

The Sheriff of Nottingham.

His face twisted into a sickly smile, "Marian..." he drawled slowly, "We meet again."

Her jaw remained shut while he leaned over to speak, "And we will see how differently our meeting will end this time." Marian's eyes narrowed as he spoke.

"Take her to my chambers...I will have my way with her," he said to the guard holding Marian, then he turned and walked away, an entourage of pages and squires following him. She turned to look at the tall archway, where the people were waiting. Will stood, his hands tied feebly behind his back, staring at her with sad eyes. She was pulled from his gaze, and lead indignantly after the Sheriff.

"Marian!" Will yelled, before the strong iron gate came crashing down in front of him, blocking Marian from his sight.


	15. Third Interlude

Guy Gisbourne retrieved the letter from his breast pocket of his deep purple cloak and read it again, tipping it toward the pale blue light that streamed from the window of the carriage.

"Attention Guy Gisbourne of Gisbourne Manor and Estate,

I have your niece, Mary Gisbourne in my custody. Tha may come and reclaim her before the year is out, or she will suffer dire consequences. I hope this does not interfere with our relationship, old friend, but, as our deal from years past had failed, thee should very well consider reimbursing me for my troubles. I very much wish to see you before the New Year, for it would be a pity if Mary were to disgrace thy family even more than she has.

Thy friend and confidant,

Henry Loxley, Nottingham Sheriff"

His grey eyes skimmed across the note again, then crumpled it up in anger, throwing it to the floor of the moving carriage. He looked out the window out into the snowy landscape, his thoughts wandered to his sister and her bastard child. It had been a blessing and a curse when they ran off.

But now he knew that one of them was alive.

He had thought them dead many years. They were free from his mind, but when that messenger came to his door and gave him the correspondence, he noticed the crest that sealed the parchment shut. It was the Royal Crest. After opening it, he ordered his servants to bring around the coach, and make ready for a trip to Nottingham.

He wondered what the Sheriff was playing at, and if he was telling the truth. True, they were old friends, but, one could never know for sure. Was Mary definitely under his charge? That scrawny, wild brat? Why would he have her in the first place? So many questions befuddled his mind and tormented him while in the confinements of his seat.

Guy leaned forward in the carriage and grabbed the paper, smoothing it out on his lap for a second reading.

Mary was alive.

* * *

Scarlet ducked under a punch thrown his way before kicking the guard in the groin. Watching with satisfaction as the man keeled over with a groan, he rubbed his knee with a bruised hand. More castle guards were coming his way, so Will had to think fast. In the dim hallway, he saw a small opening that let a stream of light through.

Grinning roguishly, he unsheathed the fallen guard's sword, turned, and ran full speed at the small window, hacking at it with all his might. Making a sufficient hole, he dropped the sword and tried yanking at the broken boards with his hands. He smelled fresh air, and that drove him crazy, for wolves do not like to live in cages. They want to be free.

Will turned just in time to see a guard round the corner of the dim dungeon hall before giving the rotting boards one more shove. The hole in the wall was big enough for him to fit through, so he kicked the guard backwards into the opposite wall and lifted himself up enough to be able to squeeze through. He struggled, and with a wince and a yelp, he freed himself from the nightmare.

It was a short fall, but when his feet hit the ground, he ran from the castle walls and never looked back.

* * *

Sitting moodily out of the wind, Robert rubbed his hands together for warmth. His cold, blue eyes gazed across the forest from where he sat, under a Cabinwood tree. It's low branches made a blessed shelter from the drifts of snow that came down from the heavens. His bow lay in his lap, and he sat waiting for a lone rabbit, or deer to cross his path.

Robert had secluded himself from the gang of thieves after Scarlet had left in the early fall. John usually talked to him for a bit, but not for long, he didn't very much like to talk. The giant of a man knew that Robert was very temperamental, and understood his need to be alone, but never ceased to check up on him often.

It was peaceful in the forest, and Robert loved times like these the most. Sitting in the woods, letting his thoughts ebb and flow through the wintry pines, his dreams sent dancing across the ice covered rivers, and then burrowing down into a hole with some hibernating animal. He liked the cold temperatures also, it kept others away. It was now that he thought of her.

He could no longer deny the fact that he missed her. He missed her smile, her strong will, and her insufferable wit. He missed the smell of her, and her cool hands about his waist. But, he silently laughed, she probably did not miss him as he does her. Robert remembered back to when they were by the river, standing across from each other across the moving water. It was then that he realized that he loved her.

But, love...what is love? A fool's emotion. With a terrible change of mood, he parted the branches and stepped out into the snow, strapping his bow to his back. Turning, he saw John from a distance bumbling clumsily towards him through the snow.

"Rober'...come quick... 'tis Will Scarlet!" John panted when he reached him.

"Scarlet? He's back?" Robert muttered, following his friend.

"An' e's go' news, Rober'...I don' t'ink 'oo'll like it," John said, and Robert had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged strides.

"What?" Robert asked, showing a hint of worry on his face, "What's wrong?" John looked at him, and shook his head, "'Oo can ask Scarlet."

"Oh, John, it can't be that bad," Robert smiled, then stopped, as Scarlett was standing in front of him, with a forlorn look on his face. Gaping at him with an open mouth, Robert's eyes took in the sorry disheveled sight of his friend, he was dirty, and blood stained his shirt. Scarlet shook his head, "I have news."

* * *

It was an evil, corrupt dream that brought her from her sleep. Sarah sat up quickly, shivering in a cold sweat. Grabbing her mask that had been discarded in the night, she tightened the laces and pondered the risk of her dangerous undertaking. In the foggy night, it all came clear right then.

Sarah knew in her heart that she must venture out of the Wastes to save Marian.

She whipped the warm rug from her legs and began to gather her things into a burlap bag, shaking with worry and fear. Would she get there on time? Could she alone stop these treacherous things from happening? Was she ready for the journey ahead of her?

One thing was for sure, she was determined to not let anything happen to Marian. For the dream she had just dreamt had given her a warning. A warning to stay away from Nottingham, the city of blood, rot, and death. Although trusting her vision, she could not stay away from the young woman that made her life worth living. Sarah must go to Nottingham.

The metallic stench in the air was sent her way in the form of a cold, creeping foreboding. A silent clue to the goings on in Nottingham. With the Sheriff. She had seen in her impressions, a dream where she saw Marian tortured by a man in black, throwing his head back in evil cackles. Sarah had received a clear message of purpose. She must be on her way to the city, no delay.

The masked woman bundled up and prepared herself to step out into the snow. Strength welled up in her body and pushed her out of the cave and down the icy path of the rocks. With gaining vigor, she marched towards on of the secret forest paths, knowing in her heart that she had a mission, and at any cost was she going to execute it.

She was daring, this is true, but her motive proved truer...Marian. The young woman was her everything, she gave her purpose, ambition, and a will to strive for an unrestrained passion. It was Marian who brought light into her world, and she was one of the few turbulent moving bodies in the world, who knew no place in the world, but with herself.

Sarah knew she had brought Marian up well, caring for her and watching her grow into a beautiful fiery maiden, then setting her free out into the world. Marian had never discovered Sarah's true past...or that she knew her before she was even born.

She had never revealed that her real name was Christine, and the mask hid her identity for a reason.

Marian had never found out that she had never been without her mother. Christine had a reason for this also...she had not meant to come across her long lost daughter so many years ago, starving in the woods. And for the sake of her child, she never confessed to her the knowledge that she had kept while in hiding in the Barnesdale Wastes. It was for Marian's own good that she was kept in the dark.

Now, her mother was valiant in her quest to regain her daughter from the man to whom she was once betrothed.


	16. The Mask

Marian's eyes rolled to the back of her head in pain infused delirium. The wooden chair creaked it's protest as she rocked back and forth, moaning with displeasure. The room was dark and windowless, she had sat in there, tied humiliatingly to a chair for two days now, cold and alone, not knowing if she was dead...or just in a hell of her own imaginings.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door opened, letting a faint stream of light in. She stopped moving and stared dumbly at the person standing in the doorway. The candle that he was holding shed dim light upon his features, and Marian screamed in horror as she recognized that it was the Sheriff.

He walked in the room, carrying a bag and a pad of paper under his arm. Marian yelled in a hoarse voice, "Thou art a bloody murderer!" And she tried to spit on him, but she could not will any saliva to her mouth. The Sheriff laughed ridiculingly, and brought a chair from a far corner of the small room and sat directly in front of her, setting the bag on the floor between his feet, and the pad of paper in his lap.

"Shut up, girl, I mean tha no harm," he said calmly.

"Like Hell!" she spat, leaning forward, almost toppling the chair. The Sheriff smiled sardonically, pushing her back, "Don't thou trust me?"

"I trust thee about as far as I can throw thee."

The Sheriff fell into a gale of laughter, "Thou art very witty, Mary Gisbourne."

Her eyes widened at the mention of her name, and the Sheriff smiled, "Ah, as I see that now I've got thy attention, let's get down to business." He opened the bag and retracted an inkpot and pen, flipped to a clean page on his pad, and readied himself to write.

"Now, tell me Mary, dost thou know of my son's whereabouts?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, waiting for her answer. She sat there, perplexed, mouth agape. He motioned for her to speak, and her eyes narrowed in a threatening glare, "Why would I tell thee?"

"I could motivate thee," he said, reaching into his bag a second time, bringing out a jar, and opened it, holding it under her nose, "What does it smell like to thee?"

Marian inhaled tentatively, comprehended what it was, but was too afraid to speak. The Sheriff smiled, "Tha must know where he is hiding."

"Who said he was hiding?"

"Mary," he said, quickly loosening the ropes that bound her to the arm of the chair to bring her hand further over the edge, then tightening the ropes before she could protest, "Thou art on dangerous ground."

"Thy threats mean nothing," she said, her jaw stuck out stubbornly. The Sheriff uncapped the jar and held it above her hand, tipping it so a yellow liquid poured out of it, oozing slowly over her hand.

"Last chance, my child," he said. Marian looked at him square in the eye, "How can thou give me a chance when thou hast never given thy own child one?"

He yelled in anger, and held the burning candle under her hand that dripped with oil. Her tortured shrieks mixed with his growls as the oil bubbled. Her skin screamed mercy, but she did not, for she knew that she was suffering for Robert.

She thought of his intriguing blue eyes, and the way his dark hair would always fall into them. She thought of the feel of his hand on hers, and the livid white scar on his cheek. Through the pain, all she could think about was him.

She loved him, she realized suddenly through the pain. And that's why she suffered. For her love.

For Robert.

* * *

He raked his fingers through his hair, and paced around the camp with growing anxiety. Robert would not eat a bite of the venison stew that Tuck had made, or sip any of Mother Marie's soothing herb tea. The other thieves watched nervously as their friend took in the news that Scarlet had just told.

Marian had been captured by the Sheriff.

"Rob," John reached his hand out to comfort him.

"No!" Robert growled, shrugging away from his touch. He was unable to shake the anger growing inside of him.

"Wha' are we goin' t' do, Rob?" John asked. Robert stood near the fire and Scarlet shivered, seeing dangerous golden sparks reflect from his eyes. The whole group waited in silent anticipation as they waited for his reply.

"We must..." his voice broke and he lifted his head to look at the band, "We must go to Nottingham and carry out a performance of dire heroics." A gasp exhaled from the gathering, but Robert was not quite done.

"It has been too many years since I first sought refuge beneath the strong boughs of these trees, since I was cast away from society. I have seen too much death, pain, and suffering to carry with me, and this burden is weighing heavily on all of our shoulders," he glanced around and noted their agreeing nods.

"Do we really have to stand for this? This injustice that has been served upon our plates, but has not succeeded in satisfying our hunger? Do we stand idly by as our friends and families perish around us? Should we take this chance and answer the call that has echoed many times through this forest?" Robert paced in front of the entranced people, a tone of purpose rising in his voice.

"Evil thrives when good men do nothing. And I will not remain unheard a moment longer. I will not let the evilness that exists Nottingham prevail!"

A cheer rose from the group, before huddling closer to Robert to listen to his plan.

The sky was was cloudy and dark, threatening rain, and birds twittered nervously in the trees, warning others of the danger of getting wet. The air was crisp and clean, and as she took a deep breath, she felt the very first pang of dread in the deep recesses of her stomach. Christine turned to look behind her, just to make sure there was no one coming up the road. To her dismay, a great, black carriage was advancing quickly upon her. How could she have not heard it?

Out in the open, unprotected by pine nettles and wide fronds, frightened her to no end. She paused, holding her hand to her heart and felt it's rapid beat, breathing heavily. Panic struck her in full force as she darted quickly off of the road and dashed into the darkened forest that surrounded the ancient road. Once off the road, she crouched behind a thorny bush, waiting for the travelers to pass.

"What was that?" the driver of the carriage whispered to himself as he saw a figure run into the forest from the road. Slowing the horses, he halted the carriage, stepping down to inspect the mysterious happening. Though, as he was about to trek into the woods, a voice called out to him from the cabin of the vehicle.

"Matthew?" the voice called, "Why have we stopped?"

Matthew turned his head away from the woods and said, "Nothing, milord, we'll get going in a moment..."

Guy peered out the window at his driver, shaking his head, "Am I paying him to piss?"

"We really must be going, Matthew, 'tis urgent that I reach Nottingham by nightfall."

Soon, the carriage started moving again and he finally sat back in his seat, fumbling for the flint in his pocket to light his pipe. Once lit, he reveled in the circling smoke, sighing his pleasure. Soft pats on the roof and windows signaled that it had started to rain. Smiling, he glanced out the window, only to see the trees passing at an increasing speed. The smile fell and he called to his driver, "Matthew, slow down, I don't want to be killed."

The carriage did not slow down, but suddenly stopped. Unexpectedly, the door swung open, a hooded man standing there, his arm braced against the doorframe. Guy had flung his still-smoldering pipe onto the floor and sat shaking, against a corner of the cabin. The hooded figure said, "Get out."

"As a noble, I shall not. I order thee to let me go," Guy said, gathering courage as he spoke, feeling inside his jacket for the dagger that he kept there.

"If tha must refuse...I must make thee..."

He drew the knife and stabbed the air in front of him, as if to protect himself from the stranger. Leaping, he pushed the stranger from the door and jumped out into the rain, smiling evilly.

"Stupid trickster, thou art unarmed," he cackled, "Now prepare to die!"

A bright flash of lightning revealed a gathering of people, holding their swords at the ready, arrows cocked, and aimed at him. The man seemed to stand taller, making Guy drop his useless knife in fright, and he lowered his hood, his blue eyes piercing into Guy.

"Welcome to Sherwood, milord," Robert mocked, and watched as Guy Gisbourne fell into the mud in a faint.

* * *

Scarlet came from behind Robert, "Almost as unstable as Alan, eh?"

"E's ou' cold," John reported, kneeling by the unconscious man.

"He's also loaded," Much said, noting the full trunk and cabin. Thunder boomed loudly as the thieves pillaged through the luggage.

"Take only what we need, men," Robert reminded them as he watched Scarlet crouch over Guy and search through his pockets. His rough fingers grazed across a piece of paper, and he quickly withdrew it, opening it, and tilting the parchment towards the light.

"Bah, I don't know how to read," Scarlet scoffed, then turned to look at Robert, "Hey, thee can read." Robert took the note into his hands and his eyes raced across the page.

"If what this note says is true, this man is known as Guy of Gisbourne." The group felt a collective shudder shoot up their spines, for they have heard of the man. And these were not good things. They had heard of his cruelty he expressed onto his servants and the same courtesy onto his family. It did not sit well with John.

"Give me 'un goo' reason why we shouln' kill 'im righ' now?" he asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Robert ignored him, "This letter also says that his neice, Mary Gisbourne, has been captured by the Sheriff..."

"Two damsels in distress?" Scarlet raised an eyebrow.

"Must be," Robert said, scratching his stubble-covered chin.

"So why don' we kill 'im?" John asked.

"Because he might be of some use to us..."

* * *

The food left in the pot smelled wonderfully good. Christine was practically drooling from her perch in the tree high above the thieves' camp. She could just quietly climb down from the tree and to the pot, and...

No. The risk was too great. She had to wait for all of them to fall fully asleep, and then she could eat their leftovers without the chance of getting caught. But, the stew smelled mighty tempting...

After she had rushed off of the road, she saw the driver come to the edge of the forest, very near to where she was hiding. The sky had darkened surprisingly sooner than expected, but it was not dark enough for her to witness someone slink from the protection of the forest shadowed darkness and cuff the driver over the head. She had watched curiously as the man then hopped into the driver's seat and spur the horses into a gallop.

Though she was not as young as she used to be, her strong legs moved as she willed them, swiftly following after the racing black carriage as it rumbled down the road. Then, chasing after it as it turned onto a muddy back road, hiding behind a fallen oak as soon as the carriage stopped. Leaning forward she only caught bits and pieces of the conversation.

"...get out..."

"...let me go..."

"...refuse...thee..."

"...prepare to die..."

"...out cold..."

"...loaded..."

"...only what we need..."

To Christine's knowledge, and keen eyesight, she guessed that there was about seven thieves that had stolen the vehicle. It had started to rain, so she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her eyes, though it didn't give much refuge from the droplets. And that's when she heard it. The name left the hooded one's lips, like venom from a serpent's wrath. The name that was dreadful...horrid...evil...

"...Guy of Gisbourne..."

Her whole being went cold, and an uncontrollable shaking overcame her hands. Biting her lips and stilling them between her knees, she stretched her neck as far as it could go to hear more of what was being said through the noisy thunder and rain.

"...Mary Gisbourne...captured...Sheriff..."

Christine's hand flew to her mouth and she felt hot tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill. It was true. The Sheriff had Marian, and had informed Guy of his intentions. Anger replaced fear as she watched the thieves unharness the horses and pull the carriage deeper into the woods. She looked on as the large intimidating man heaved Guy over his shoulders and trample after his friends.

She followed them.

And here she was, stuck in a tree, waiting, her mouth watering at the food below.

"Hell," she whispered to herself and jumped down nimbly, creeping stealthily towards the encampment, stalking towards the pot of unused food. Reaching it, she fell to her knees in ravenous hunger, whipping off her leather mask to ready herself to eat. She used her hands to spoon the thick, warm stew into her awaiting eager mouth, and soon it was gone. Licking her fingers, she sat back on her haunches, suddenly smelling something in the air that wasn't there before.

The hooded man stood behind her, arrow drawn dangerously to his ear, sinister thoughts in his mind. Christine stood slowly, her back still to him, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"Who art thou?" he demanded. She turned cautiously, holding her hands before her, showing that she had meant no harm. Raising her head timidly, she said, "I-I-I was hungry..."

Robert almost loosed the arrow when he saw her features. He had seen the same straight nose, long brown hair, and gracefully arching eyebrows before...but on some one else. His eyes squinted in vacant recognition, he lowered the bow and stepped closer to her to examine her face better in the light.

On closer inspection, the features had changed, though not by much. Soft wrinkles showed around her eyes and mouth, grey hairs streaked through her brown hair, and her eyes were the color of the sky on a cloudy day. But he had been sure...

No...that was silly.

"...I-I-I'm sorry..."

"No," he said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder, "Tha reminds me of some one I know..."

Christine was puzzled at this, and looked up into his face. It all came rushing back to her, like a giant wave upon the sandy shore. His face, it brought back memories of a dream she once had. And telling Marian to watch out for...two figures...

She reached out a hesitant hand and nudged his hood away from his face and let it fall to his shoulders. She touched the lengthy scar that marred his cheek. Yes. There was no doubt that this was the young man that had been in her vision of times past. A low whisper escaped her lips, and it was so faint that Robert almost didn't catch it, "Tha must know Marian."

It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Robert nodded his head sullenly, "I do know her, but she has fallen into trouble."

"I know..." Christine said, "You must tell me all."

* * *

"Why dost thou wear this mask?" Robert asked, running his fingers across the worn leather face that sat in his lap. Christine looked over at him from across the fire. She was still taking in all of the information that he had just disclosed. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly, and it took a gentle touch on her shoulder by Robert to rouse her from her thoughts.

"To save myself from persecution."

"What?" Robert was obviously confused as he handed her back the mask and watched her tie it securely behind her head.

"A long time ago, I was a noble...in fact, I was Guy Gisbourne's sister," she nodded towards the sleeping Guy, who was bound by thick robes near John's tent. Robert's mouth gaped open, but other than that, he did not seem surprised in the least. He had given up on doubt as of late, and something inside him told him that Christine was one to be trusted.

"And," she continued, "I was meant to marry a barron, a sheriff...one that tha must know pretty well..."

He had not told her his relations to the Sheriff of Nottingham. How could she...

"I am a seer, Robert of Loxley, do not question how I know these things," her eyes locked with his, "Henry Loxley was to be my husband. But my heart had only one owner...one that tha must also know..."

"Marian?" he asked, unsure of his answer.

"My daughter, Mary Gisbourne. Known to thee as Marian."

"Marian is a noble?" he asked in disbelief.

"Aye. We fled when we had the first chance, for we knew not when we would get another. Though, we were caught, Marian was sent back to my brother's, me with the Sheriff."

"How did tha get away?"

"'Tis my story, child, allow me to tell it as I wish," she said, scolding him, but then a smile passed across her lips, "I escaped. And fled into the Wastes of Barnesdale, knowing that the old forest would give me protection. There I stayed for seven years, growing used to the forest ways, hiding in a cave, becoming a hermitress. I even made this mask," she said, touching the leather upon her face, "To assure that none would recognize me."

"What of Marian?"

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," she said, beginning to tell the story again, "I found her in the forest, nothing but a wandering, thin, starving waif of a thing...and believe thee me, I could hardly hide my joy. Or sorrow. Mind thee, though I had found my child, I could not reveal my identity to her, t'would have risked her life, and mine. So, we lived together, she knowing me only as Sarah, the hermitress, and I thinking of her as Marian, Lady of the Woods."

"And now I hear that she is captured by that Sheriff, so I journeyed as far as Sherwood Forest, and by an odd chance of luck, I met thee, dear Robert, and here my tale ends. Now, what dost thou plan to do about my girl in Nottingham Castle, this very moment?" she asked, looking at him expectantly.

"Well, I, uh..." he began, rubbing his arm nervously, looking everywhere but at Christine, for they had not devised a surefire course of action as of yet.

"A plan of some sorts?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows."

"A plan," a voice said, coming from behind a tent. The owner of the voice strode out and stood in front of them both, the fire casting dark shadows under his eyes, making him look menacing. Scarlet grinned, "A plan is just what we need."


	17. Standing Accused

Her uncle had not come.

The Sheriff leaned leisurely back in his chair as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. The girl's uncle had not arrived as expected, and his patience was wearing thin. Marian had been a burden to him since the day she had arrived. And a burden that he would like to be rid of.

Removing his shiny black boots from the top of the desk, he sat up, gripping the broken silver tipped arrow that had been in his mind constantly over many months, haunting his dreams, frequenting his thoughts in his waking. His blue eyes gazed up the shaft, and finally reached the arrowhead. Reaching up his finger he stroked the blade, then recoiled, staring in shock at the droplet of blood that had appeared there.

"Still sharp," he murmured. Standing up, he went to the door and opened it, and spoke to the guard that stood there, "Get the girl. She is broken. Make her ready to hang at noon." And then just as quickly as he had opened the door, he slammed it just as abruptly, smiling wickedly to himself.

The girl had been broken.

* * *

A brisk wind rippled the skirts around Christine's legs as she watched the thieves prepare for battle. The man known to her as Scarlet was sharpening his knife with the small man, Much, whose small but strong fingers danced around his boots, lacing them tightly. A fat man was practicing moves with the larger man who she had seen the night before, John. Their ash staves moved swiftly, each blow met with a strategic block, as others watched, clapping their approval of their expertise. The nuns were gathering sticks and twine, rushing about the dirty men like nervous hens. A small smile appeared, before she quickly remembered who all this was for.

Marian.

Christine's eyes gazed around the clearing, before resting on a crumpled, sleeping man who leaned against a white birch. She strode purposefully over to him, her hands slowly clenched into fists as she did so. She passed Robert on the way, and he reached his hand out to her, but thought better of it, watching her silently.

Suddenly, Guy awoke, finding a masked person peering down at him. Night was fading into daylight, and he could hear the stomping of horses and the shouts of men around him. His hands were clasped together, tied with rope, as if he was in silent prayer, and he leaned against a tree, its bark scratching the back of his neck.

It seemed as if the masked character and he were the only two beings left on earth. The scenery changed drastically, the dark brown and green colors swirled and melded slowly together like soup being stirred with a wooden spoon above a fire. He shielded his eyes and squinted to take a closer look at this person's face, but before his eyes could adjust rightly, the figure had moved on, and all Guy could do was lean his head against the tree and wonder.

"This is far too dangerous, Christine, remember that I do not ask of thee to come with us," Robert told her as they sat behind the city walls.

"Thee did not ask for them to come," she said, motioning towards the huddled nuns, who were fletching arrows as fast as their nimble fingers could fly, "But here they are."

Scarlet ran towards them with great speed. Everyone gathered around as they waited for him to speak.

"Robert...'tis Marian," he panted, holding his hand to his chest as if it hurt him to breath.

"Marian!" Robert and Christine exclaimed together, standing up.

"She's...she's...to be...hung..."

"When?" Much asked, gripping the young man's shoulder.

"When...the sun is high..."

"Oh no!" Mother sobbed, flinging herself into the arms of Tuck, who comforted the nun. Christine grabbed at Robert's tense arm, "What shall we do?"

He pulled his hood down and shifted a quiver of silver-tipped arrows onto his back, grabbing his bow with his other hand. Then, he looked at everyone else, with a sly grin on his face, "We shall make sure she does not swing."

* * *

It took all Marian's strength to shove the chair into the corner, where the runoff from last night's rain dripped through a crack in the wall. The soft sound had woken her from nightmarish dreams, and brought her back to her world of pain. Her world of never-ending torture and filth.

Her left hand felt like a thousand bone needles were trying to poke their way through the skin. It tingled and twitched, for she had no control over it. Marian shook all over from the wintry chill that crept through the walls of the small cell that she was in, and penetrated her body. Her aching body.

She leaned back in her chair, opening her mouth, letting the water trickle onto her parched tongue. Then she spit out the liquid violently, rocking the chair so much that it tipped over, spilling her to the floor, her hands and ankles still tied to the wooden arms and legs. That water had betrayed her, for water it was not. Marian guessed that one of the castle's deep latrines was nearby, and its contents were leaking in through the walls.

She lay on the cold, stone floor, her head pinned under the back of the chair, and her knees felt crushed under the weight of the seat. She let out a growl that sounded more like a whimper. Marian would not cry. Not now. The Sheriff may have burned her, and beaten her, but he had not broken her. She leaned to the side and the chair rolled with her movements, her body no longer under it's heaviness.

Marian drifted in and out of darkness, dreaming nothing, seeing nothing but bottomless, empty gloom, and moving smoky shadows that reached out for her, calling her name...

"Get 'er up!" ordered a guard who had come into the room, and two others righted the heavy chair in which Marian sat. They untied her hands and ankles with cruel harshness, and pulled her up.

"Girlie's gonna swing today!" the guard to her right sang through his toothless mouth. She lifted her head weakly, "Swing?"

"Ya deaf girlie, th' Sheriff ordered tha' yer going in fo' a hangin'!" the other bearded guard said, dragging her out into the dimly lit hallway, and up the stairs. No one was going to force her to hang. Not even the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Gathering her courage, Marian socked one of them in the stomach, screaming, "No one owns me!"

She kicked herself out of the vise grip of the other, pushing him backwards down the stairs so that he toppled over the third and final guard that stood in her way.

"NO ONE OWNS ME!" she shouted again, and bolted with all of her energy left up the stairs, opening the oak door that led outside into the snow. Blinking at the bright light, she stumbled across the courtyard, falling numerous times, her blurred vision seeing nothing but white, falling snow.

Then she was tackled to the ground by a guard, her face pressed into the cold, frozen ground. It was then that she admitted her defeat, accepted her fate. She could fight no more, it had drained her of everything she had. All hope was gone.

Marian was to hang at noon.

* * *

She looked out at the crowd that had gathered to watch the hanging, holding her tears inside, not openly showing her fear. Because that would show weakness, and even Sarah had said that she was not one of the weak. And she would prove that until her dying day...which would be in only minutes... that she would not quit. The sky had slowly darkened in the last hour, and clouds formed above the city, thunder could be heard in the distance. The weather shadowed Marian's mood.

She was the only woman in a small pen with a dozen or more thieves, murderers, and rapists, only half of whom were truly guilty of their crimes. Some prayed on their knees, others laughed deliriously, and most were too drunk to care. Marian pressed her hands against the wooden bars and glared up at the Sheriff, who sat beside Prince John, on a sheltered part of the high walls of the castle.

Her contempt bubbled inside her stomach for the two men she hated most in the world. For the two men who had caused so much death, pain, and starvation. For the two men that held the reigns of the country, and guided it further and further into the pits of Hell.

"What's t' do fo' thee?" A man with a dirty face asked her and she turned her glare from the Sheriff to him. He wiped his nose on his sleeve as he waited for her answer.

"I must hang for the crime of being defiant..." she said, her voice dark and low, returning her gaze to the upper wall. He scratched his chin with an equally dirty hand.

"Hmmm, ne'er heard o' tha' one befo', swee'," the man responded, then left her to be alone.

The door of the cage creaked noisily open, and one by one, they were dragged out with heartless feeling, their hands bound tightly by ropes, and pushed unforgivingly towards the gallows. And one by one, they were lead up onto the creaky wooden scaffolding, nooses neatly fitted over their necks. Marian held an expression of stubborn stoniness on her face, and complied with all the guard's wishes.

She stared out at the jeering crowd, hating them also for watching intently as innocent lives were lost before them. Marian blinked wearily, and her eyes moved to the distant stone wall, where she saw a strange movement of people through the crowd. She shook her head at the foolishness, it was just the last remnants of hope playing tricks on her.

But she saw it again, and the gang of moving people spread out in the crowd, their faces unrecognizable to her. Wondering what was going on, she glanced up at the Prince and the Sheriff, to see if they had noticed. Of course they did not, for they were chatting earnestly about some petty problem that mattered to their royal heads. She looked to the guards, anxious to know if they suspected anything.

They didn't.

Something was up.

Marian searched the crowd once more, trying to pick out the strangers that she had seen before. She could find no one, but spied a curious movement on top of the high guard towers, and it was not a guard, for sure. The man did not wear one of the royal uniforms required by the Sheriff, but he did carry a quiver of arrows, like one of the hired archers, and a sword at his belt, like one of the keepers. What was going on?

They had just dropped the first criminal, and the sudden actions shook the gibbit boards that hung above them as the rope went taut, and then agonizingly soon, limp. Marian was sixth down the line of accused outlaws. She had to be brave, strong, and true. She could not show fault in her actions. She must be courageous.

It was awfully hard.

The second man was dropped, and Marian whimpered in fright, looking towards the people on the ground, pleading silently for any form of help with her eyes. They averted their gazes strategically, not wanting to accept their guilt. Desperately, she took a step forward, almost choking herself on the rope, "Doesn't anyone care?" she pleaded, before she was pulled back by one of the strong guards, a short knife at her throat.

"Don't make me cu' thee righ' now..." came a stale voice in her ear, and then she was shoved back into line, her eyes cast downwards in shame at her own helplessness. A shaking of the scaffolds signaled the loss of one more scoundrel. Marian peered ruefully out from behind her long brown hair, and this time, she met the attention of one other pair.

The eyes were a radiant azure blue, hidden under a forest green hood, and he stood at the end of the gallows at the very front of the gathered mass, watching her silently. She felt a sudden warmth in her belly and her knees go weak as he brought a subtle finger to his grinning lips.

Her mouth gaped with awe, as she watched her fearless Robert slip mysteriously back into the people. Marian looked to the other towers and saw that more strange men had gathered there, going unnoticed by the Sheriff and his men. She realized with astonishment that there were more thieves from Sherwood Forest in the crowd than in the forest at this time, and she believed that all of them were there.

For her.

She felt a sudden feeling of admiration swell in her breast, and almost started crying at the dauntlessly gallant actions of Robert, coming to Nottingham to save her from certain death. Oh, how she loved him, and her arms ached with longing to hug him, and plant kisses on his stubbly cheek. Nothing in the world could stop her from being with him, and she would personally hurt anyone who tried. She loved him so...

The third and fourth men had been swinging for some time now, shaking the ropes as they twisted and struggled. It was almost her turn, but she did not have half the fear in her heart as she had bottled up only mere moments ago. It was now her turn to fight, her turn to be victorious, her turn to spit on the Sheriff and his ways. Her turn to be happy.

The man next to her was let go, and his neck broke on impact, killing him instantly. It would soon be her turn. She felt the weight of one of the executioners' hands on her shoulder, but no fear pounded in her heart, for now she knew she was going to be saved. The gloved hands tightened the rope around her slender neck, and she clenched her fists in anxiety. Why hadn't they rescued her yet?

Suddenly without any warning, Marian felt the board let loose beneath her, and the noose became taut around her neck. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs with air, but the pressure of the burning twisted cords on her neck was too much. Oh, Sweet God, she was going to die. Marian's eyes cast wildly about the crowd with direst need, looking frantically for Robert, and the rest. Letting out an anguished cry, she felt her vision go cloudy then, her ears heard the strange buzzing of a thousand bees, and her breath slowed and became ragged. She was about to die.

Her eyes felt salty and dry, and she closed them ceremoniously, welcoming the inky blackness of somber death and defeat.


	18. The Promise

The sun was high in the sky when Marian dropped from the gallows.

The sun was high in the sky when the Sheriff of Nottingham threw his head back and laughed.

The sun was high in the sky when the thieves started their attack.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the thieves of Sherwood Forest pushed through the cheering crowd towards the gallows towards Marian. John was the first to reach the limp body of the young girl, and he unsheathed his sword and sliced through the rope that hung her in one fluid motion. He caught her clumsily in his arms, peering doubtfully into her red face. He was doubting if she was still alive.

Christine rushed to them ignoring the jostling, panicked crowd. She saw Marian's lifeless body in John's arms and let out a choked cry. When she reached them, John shook his head sadly, "I fear tha' we're too late."

"No," she said, firmly, looking up into his boyish face, "Marian's strong...she will survive."

"What's going on down there, dost thou suppose, Sheriff Loxley?" Prince John asked with an air of superiority, leaning forward in his royal throne. He peered over the edge of the box at the people in the square, squinting against the glare of the sun. Sheriff Loxley leaned forward also, then stood up sharply, knocking the heavy chair to the stone floor. His blue eyes narrowed on the figure dressed in green, standing tall atop the gallows, cutting away the bonds of the condemned, and fighting off the guards. Other thieves of his kind swarmed around, attacking them, peasants running everywhere. Chaos.

Prince John's sickly pale face turned to him, questioningly, "What is it?"

The Sheriff turned to the guards standing on either side of the covered box and ordered tersely, "Order all of your men to shoot at them."

"But sir, our archers are not that skillful, they could hit -" one protested before he cut him off.

"I don't CARE if they KILL a peasant, just GET the traitors...KILL THE OUTLAWS!" the Sheriff yelled, and both guards ran to deliver the order to the archers. He turned to once again view the man in green down below, gripping the stone edge until his knuckles became white.

"Who are they?" Prince John asked, a frightened look on his face.

"The notorious outlaws of Sherwood...and my son."

Robin swung his sword in a circle, trying to fend off the attacking guards. He looked behind his shoulder, checking to see how the other outlaws were doing. He saw Scarlet laughing as he swung from the strong gallow ropes, his arms and legs flailing, falling onto a group of guards, whose swords had not even been drawn yet. Much was having just as much fun dodging a giant of a man who was wielding a dangerous looking spear, and the smaller man was running circles around him. To the right of Robert, Friar Tuck was growling as he exchanged punches with another guard, and aiding him was Mother Marie, who had hit someone who had come up behind the fat friar with a discarded metal helmet.

"Hey Scarlet," he called to his friend, seeing that he had come out of the group of guards unharmed, and still laughing, "Where's Marian?"

"I don't know," he said, sending a swift kick into the stomach of a charging guard. Robert dodged around the fighting men, and bounded up the wooden steps of the gallows, to get a better view of the situation. Turmoil surrounded the square, and Robert had the distinct feeling that a lot of women would be without their husbands by sunset. Arrows began to shower down from the high castle walls and fell a few outlaws, and a few of the royal guards. Time was running out. He had to find her before everyone in this square would be dead. His eyes narrowed as he searched for Marian...

He hoped it wasn't too late.

"ROB!" He heard his name, and turned towards the sound. He saw John, on the outskirts of the fighting. In his massive arms lay a limp figure, her face turned upwards towards the heavens, a slack hand laying across her breast, and her long brown hair falling in dirty strands over his arm. Christine stood next to him, a worried look on her face, wringing her hands with anxiousness.

"MARIAN!" Robert yelled, and jumped off of the gallows, pushing his way through the men to get to John. The arrows still showered down, but Robert got out of the line of fire quickly, for he knew that if he lingered, soon, his own blood would be shed.

"Marian!" he said again, when he reached her immobile form. John looked up from her blank face, and told Robert, "She's breathin', though not as strong as un' should."

"We have to get her out of here," Christine said with utmost urgency. Robert nodded with agreement, caressing her face gently with his hand, his brow furrowing with anger at her injustice.

"Rob, what should we do?" John asked.

"Take her, and run to the woods, I'll meet thee there," he advised, taking one last long look at Marian, before he turned and attacked the nearest guard with such force that he knocked over two men with him.

"Robert!" Christine called, and he withdrew his sword from the torso of a guard before he turned to her.

"Go!" Robert barked, frowning at her, "I'll meet thee in the woods."

Christine just stood there stupidly, her hands at her sides. Robert approached her and grabbed up her hands, squeezing them tightly, "It'll be alright...I promise."

Nodding, Christine turned on a heel and ran after John, leaving Robert to deal with the fighting in the square. Reeling around, he attacked the nearest guard he saw, bloodying his clothes with the crimson blood of his enemy. Fury pulsed in his temples as he killed, killed, killed.

He joined the outlaw archers and loosed double arrows, killing a royal archer. As he watched him fall, he felt the anger welling up inside him, and could not contain it. Letting out a feral roar, his hand quickly nocked arrows again and again, felling archer upon archer. There was a dark fire burning in his azure eyes.

"Over there, Robert!" Scarlet shouted over the heads of the outlaws, and he pointed towards Nottingham's strong iron gates. Robert followed the path of his finger, and saw what he guessed was a hundred more fighting men coming to the aid of King John and the Sheriff. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest as he felt the first inkling of defeat.

They might not escape with their life this time.

Those outlaws nearest to him, looked to him for support and reassurance. He had none to give. Though not a word was spoken, they all knew their fate. They would all die. There was no way out.

They were trapped.

Nonetheless, Robert stood tall, his shoulders back, and raised his sword high. He opened his mouth, and emitted a howl that was loud enough for everyone in the square to hear, passionate enough to make the Sheriff's knees go just a little weak, and powerful enough to make the birds in Sherwood quiver. In this sound, he encompassed all the courage, pride, and strength that he held inside his soul. Robert made a sound that had not been heard for years. This sound continued as he took off running towards the men coming through the gates, and as the outlaws joined in his cry and followed in the same fashion

Some would say that he sounded like a wolf.

* * *

Marian's eyes fluttered open, as she heard a familiar tune. At first, the person bending over her was blurry, and she was a little confused about where she was. As they began to adjust, she could make out the shape of the person binding her wounds with ripped cloth in the woods. The tune that she hummed struck something deep within her memory...something old...something secret...a promise...a dark night long ago...

"Mary, promise thou shalt never forget me,"

"How can I forget thee, momma, thou art here, with me."

"Yes, still, thee must promise me,"

"Aye, I will."

"May the moon shine on thy dreams, and the sun shine on thy path..."

It was now that she heard the same lullaby again. Marian struggled to make her eyes focus on the person humming the song, tried to ward of the blackness and see clear...

"Sarah?" she murmured, her voice hoarse, recognizing the older woman's tough leather mask.

"Marian," Sarah said, coming closer, and brushing away the hair from her face, "I'm here..."

"But how-" she frowned, wondering how Sarah had known the song, but Sarah shushed her and said, "I will explain all in good time, my girl..."

Marian tried to sit up, "Robert!" Sarah pushed her gently back to lay down again, "He will be along shortly..."

Marian tried to get up again, pushing Sarah's hand away, "I must get to him!"

"Marian," Sarah cried, having trouble keeping her still, "Thou art in no condition to-"

"I must get to him," Marian coughed, and stood on her feet, leaning weakly against a tree, her head still spinning from the exertion. Sarah tried to pull her back down again, but Marian was slowly regaining her strength. She looked around the forest wildly, nothing seemed familiar to her. She stumbled and fell against another tree.

"Where are the outlaws?" she asked.

"With Robert, in the square-" Sarah stopped suddenly, her eyes rolling back into her head, and dropped to her knees, clutching her head with shaky hands. She began convulsing wildly, eerie sounds emitting from her mouth.

"Sarah?" Marian gasped. Sarah rocked back and forth, clutching her head, and covered her ears, letting out deep moans as she did so.

"Sarah?" she cried, trying her best to find out what was the matter with her, reaching out her hands in an attempt to console her. Sarah grabbed at Marian's waist and pulled her close, bringing her down onto her knees, rocking her, moaning as if something pained her. Marian wrapped her slender arms around her friend in a tight hug, perplexed at her actions.

"Marian," Sarah said, letting go of her and looking into her face from behind the eyeholes of the leather mask, "We must get to him."

Sarah's eyes had turned completely grey.

"I had a vision," she said, gripping Marian by the shoulders, "That all of them...all of them..."

"All of them what?" Marian urged.

"Dead."

Sarah's visions were almost never wrong.


	19. Farewell

Marian had to save Robert.

She loved him.

Nothing could stop her.

Sarah and Marian dashed through the thick trees of Sherwood to get back to Nottingham, hoping to get there before...

Sarah said that they would be dead. Her eyes had turned completely grey, and that had never happened since Marian had known her. It frightened her, because Sarah's predictions were almost never wrong. She had grown up trusting Sarah, from the time she was only a bairn, and had never questioned her visions.

Until now.

Robert couldn't die. She wouldn't let it. Fate would not do that to her.

Fate could not do that to her.

The royal guards had not charged.

Robert had led the thieves of Sherwood into an attack on the guards, preparing for a fierce battle, but the guards had not moved.

Instead, a trumpet sounded.

Everyone paused.

They turned and looked.

Guards surrounded a figure dressed in black. He was impressive as he moved through the awe-struck outlaws. No one dared attack him. No one dared move. Until he came to the front of the crowd, and stood, hands behind his back, feet spread...in front of the man.

The man who was his son.

"Robert," the intense man said, "What do you think thou art doing?"

Robert breathed heavily, perspiration gathering on his upper lid and forehead. He feared that if he spoke, he would kill his father with all the rage that was kept inside of him. He feared that it would spill out...onto all the guards surrounding him. And then he would spill out. He couldn't let that happen.

"Just what I thought," The Sheriff said, moving closer to Robert, "Thou knows not what tha does."

"Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do..." sang Tuck softly, who stood near Robert, on the other side of Scarlet. He then looked at his friend, and whispered, "I fear there will be no forgiveness tonight."

"Why did you come back, Robert?" he asked, bringing one gloved hand up to stroke his beard thoughtfully, "Was it for the girl? Marian?"

Silence from Robert.

"Dost thou love her? Like I thought?"

Robert's jaw clenched.

"Does she love thee?"

He looked away, his eyes pained and furious.

"Tis a pity," The Sheriff said, circling Robert now, "That she won't be here to see thee die..."

"Thou art a coward," Robert spat, "Thee won't kill me."

"Art thou so sure, Robert?" The Sheriff said, taking a crossbow from a nearby guard, and stringing it as he talked, "I have killed children in the past, but I've never thought of killing my own."

Robert looked to Much and John for help, but they were held at bay by the points of spears.

"You have taken the good Loxley name and turned it into a hellish, foul word," The Sheriff continued, coming so close, that Robert could smell the stench of him, "I hate you for that."

"Not as much as I hate you," muttered Robert before he lifted his sword to plunge it into his father. But then he felt a slight pressure on his neck...a sword belonging to one of the guards.

"No so smart there, dear Robert," The Sheriff said, watching as Robert dropped his sword.

He was surrendering.

The Sheriff took aim.

"ROBERT!" came a cry from behind him, and he closed his eyes, praying...

"Robert!" Marian shouted, trying to get past some guards, but she was too weak, too drained of her energy to fight harder. Tears streamed from her eyes. An older masked woman ran up behind her and shouted, "Robert!"

The Sheriff squinted at them, and then turned back to Robert, whispering in his ear, "Maybe she will be here to see you die too." He nodded to the guards to let Marian through, and Marian stumbled over to Robert's side. She gripped his arm protectively, all the while, glaring at the Sheriff.

"If tha must kill him, tha will have a riot on thy hands..."

"If I kill all of thee, there will be no one to lead the riot," the Sheriff said, and as if on cue, the guards all pointed their swords and staffs at the surrounding outlaws' chests, preparing to kill. Tuck began saying a prayer, and Scarlet joined in, and so did Much, John, though he did not know many of the lines, and Christine from behind the tall guards.

While the mumbled prayers continued, Marian turned and looked up into Robert's ice-blue eyes. She could not fathom how much pain lay inside them. He had risked his life to save her, and she could do nothing in return now. How stupid she had been to rush out in the middle of all of the chaos. Marian reached her hand to brush away a loose strand of hair away from his face. Robert caught her hand and brought it to rest on his chest, just above his pounding heart. Without words, they understood that their love was so great, that nothing could kill it.

They embraced, and slowly their lips met for the first time. Even though they knew their existence did not matter, they knew that their love did. Robert could not contain the rapid beating of his heart, or the force that consumed his soul. He loved this woman. And Marian knew that her heart would forever belong to this man, Robert.

Suddenly, the guards pulled them away from each other, and forced Robert to go onto his knees, his hands quickly bound behind his back. Robert glared at his father, who also stared back at him with contempt.

"Now Robert," The Sheriff said, pacing a little, "I have been kind enough to let thee and thy love share one last embrace. And now prepare to have thy heart torn out..." The Sheriff took aim with the crossbow, "Farewell."

And he turned and shot Marian.

Or he would have, if Christine had not stepped into the arrow's path.

Robert and Marian screamed in anguish.

There was silence as Christine slumped backwards into Marian's arms and crumpled to the ground. The Sheriff stared at Robert fighting against the guards, smirking to himself. He silently retreated through the crowd, ordering the guards to follow suite. They knew no one would dare start a riot. There was too much power in the Sheriff's hands.

Everyone stared at the two women in the mud.

"Cut me loose," he ordered Scarlet. Scarlet complied, watching Robert crawl over to Chritine's immobile body. She was still breathing, though faintly. Marian gathered her in her arms, and sat in the in the mud hopelessly, while Robert looked into her face, paralyzed with shock.

"Marian..." Christine whispered.

"Shh..." she whispered back, trying to keep strong. Christine turned her gaze from her to the arrow protruding from her chest. It was silver-tipped. She reached her hand and touched it tenderly, wincing with pain. Marian gripped her bloddy hand tightly.

Marian knew she was going to die from the look on her face.

Christine let go of Marian's hand for a moment to weakly untie the leather thong that secured the mask she wore to her head. She dropped it, and looked up into Marian's eyes, which glowed for a moment with recognition.

"Marian," Christine began again.

"I think I've always known…mother," she smiled, then winced as Christine shook with another shock of pain. Marian lovingly pushed back a strand of hair from her mother's face and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Christine reached up to grasp her jerkin, holding her there for a moment, and whispered in her ear, "Live on, my green rider..."

The older woman's grip loosened on her daughter's jerkin, and her hand fell limp in Marian's grasp. She let out a sigh, tipping her head back as it started to snow.


	20. Epilogue

The hardened woman limped into the clearing from behind the fragrant spring brush, leading her black horse by the reigns. Letting the horse wander off to graze, she paced slowly towards the grassy mound that lay under the protection of a giant oak. She let her hood fall, and then winced as the sun pierced her mahogany eyes. The woman also shrugged off her arrow and quiver that was filled with silver-tipped arrows, laying them onto the ground.

She knelt down ceremoniously before the grave, her hands in her lap. She did not know any prayers, so nothing was said. Bowing her head, she allowed a few strands of long brown hair fall over her smooth features.

Her lips were drawn tight as she opened her callused hand to reveal a small silver ring. Se turned the ring over and gazed at its beauty. There was nothing to compare to the emerald jewel that lay embedded into the silver. She traced the curves with his finger and sighed.

A soft wind blew her hair into his eyes and she closed them for a moment, reveling in this calm feeling. She lay a hand on the grave, feeling the warm grassy ground beneath her touch.

"Art thou ready?" A voice asked, bringing the woman out of distant thoughts and a distant song.

She turned around to see a man standing in the sunlight, his hand reaching out to her, his dangerous scar almost hidden by his shadowed hood.

The woman reached out to him, and he pulled her to him, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. She buried her head into his chest, sighing deeply. His hand still encased hers, feeling the coolness of the ring between their hands. Gently taking it from her, he brought the ring to his lips, kissed it softly before sliding it onto the woman's slender finger.

She smiled up at him with an admiring gaze.

Walking away from the grave, hearing the sound of two pairs of footfalls on the ground, they both smiled, knowingly.

The Green Rider had lived on.

* * *

Finnis Green Rider


End file.
